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[that-one-girl2020]

Role Reversal Pt. 4

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: Oh my gosh, this one was a doozy. The reader and the boys’ personalities are just the slightest bit different from them in the original series because they have different experiences now. So Jum is less curious and childlike and the reader is more proactive in getting to know them instead of the other way around. Also, I promise I see all of your guys’ requests, even the ones in comments, I read all the comments. I just take time to get to each one depending on my inspiration, I have like fifty requests sitting in my inbox right now and I will try my best to get to each of them.

Synopsis: With Gwi Ma’s orders hanging over your head and the girls not being much help, you take your own steps to get to know the boys on your own.

CW: Low self esteem, insecurity, suicidal ideation (?), violence, bug eating (yes, you eat a bug), swearing/cursing.

Word Count: 6.1k

<< Part 3 || Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

The competition began. The two idol groups clashed fiercely, promoting their music and performing with a ferocity that would be more apt for a gladiator ring and not what was viewed in the industry as friendly rivalry.

Not long after you had met with Jinu and Jum, the other girls made their own reluctant moves. Your sister sent Jinu a note to meet—when she came back she seemed more thoughtful but when asked, she said that she felt like she would have a hard time dealing with Jinu. Mira, in her own passive aggressive way, ambushed Abby and Romance which led to a two hour long chase through the city where she cackled and taunted the boys. She had fun, but it didn’t seem very productive. Zoey had crashed into Mystery’s room—not literally—and bombarded the man with nail polish, random movies she had grabbed at the store, and a desire to know all the gossip that he knew. Also not very productive.

The girls spent more time with each other than working on their mission so you decided to broaden your task.

Before the end of the week, you had Arson and Sprite tailing the boys, keeping watch on them. So when they told you that one of the boys had left the Tower on their own, you jumped at the opportunity.

You teleported into an alley and easily slipped into the crowd of people on the sidewalk, walking beside the quiet man. Ever the observant one, he didn’t even need to turn his head to notice you there.

”Jinu and Jum have been acting weird.”

”Who?” You asked before really thinking about it.

“Baby. They’ve been off since the bathhouse. What’d you guys do?” Mystery asked you bluntly.

“Why didn’t you ask Zoey?” You dodged the topic, stuffing your hands in your pockets casually. It seemed like the two men hadn’t told the others about what had happened or about their meetup with you. Interesting. The boys didn’t fully trust each other, it seemed.

Mystery’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, “She was a little too energetic. Couldn’t get a word in edgewise before one of the guys came to ask what all the noise was about.”

You nodded, a hesitantly fond smile pulling at your lips, “Yeah, sounds like her.” The two of you walked along quietly for a few more minutes. You found it surprisingly peaceful. The people around you were just going about their own days and the sun was shining down and warming your skin. It was nice.

Hyeon glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. It was a little jarring to see you in casual clothes since he had really only seen you in your idol persona. Especially since the scars he had thought you and your sister had been hiding with makeup were actually demon patterns glamoured to look like faint scarring.

Hyeon didn’ t know that you and Rumi were actually unable to fully conceal your patterns with demonic means, even now. Gwi Ma’s idea of a joke since you both had tried so hard to run from them in the past.

“Can I ask?” You spoke, shaking you and him from your thoughts. “What’s with the stagenames?”

Mystery turned his head to look at you, not that you could tell. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, they just feel a little… off?”

Mystery turned his head to look forward again after watching you for a long moment. “They give us personas, safety nets when we’re performing or interacting with fans. At least, that’s what the company told us. Some of us picked our names and some of us didn’t.” You nodded at his answer, mulling the information over in your head and trying to guess which of the guys chose their names and who didn’t.

“Why don’t you guys have stage names?” Mystery asked curiously.

“I’m not sure,” You shrugged again, rolling your head back to look at the sky thoughtfully. But then you almost tripped over your own feet so you looked straight again. “The girls didn’t want one so I didn’t either. They’re trying to be more human, I guess.”

Mystery hummed for a moment. The two of you fell into a peaceful silence again. You paused when he turned into a building with dark lights inside, “What is this place?” You asked curiously, looking around at the game boxes and flashing lights curiously.

“Arcade,” Mystery answered simply and you followed behind him. “I come here to destress and get out of my head when I’m thinking too much.”

“Oh,” was all you said. Your head was turning this way and that as you tried to take in everything around you.

“Jum sometimes comes too, but he usually prefers pc and console games.”

You nodded, pretending like you knew what any of that meant. You were surprised when he handed you a plastic card full of prepaid tokens. You weren’t sure what to do with it so you just followed him.

It was surprisingly fun once you got the hang of it all. You won yourself a cute keychain from a claw thing. You didn’t win against Mystery though, not during any of the games he showed you. He let you pull him curiously into a Photo Booth, letting you choose the border and the effects. Though you weren’t sure, but he might have growled at some guy who was staring for longer than you felt comfortable with.

Hyeon didn’t know what to make of you. He couldn’t help but find it endearing how you looked at everything in the arcade with open curiosity and how you smiled unrestrained when you were focused on a game. Even when you pouted, sulking when you lost, he should’ve felt nothing for you, a demon, but his heart was light with you.

By the time your tokens ran out—after the second time he refilled your cards—it was late and the two of you had called it a day. Before the two of you parted, you held out the keychain you had worked hard to get from the claw game, “Here.” He held out his hand and you dropped it, giving it to him as he blinked down at the keychain. “Thanks for today, Mystery.”

“Hyeon.”

You tilted your head in surprise that he had given you his actual name. It wasn’t like their actual names were secret, they were online and on their biographies. But you and the girls stubbornly called them by their stagenames as a reminder that this was a mission and they were just targets. However, if Mystery was insisting you call him by his actual name, that meant you were getting closer to him, like you were supposed to, right? It…made you feel…warm.

You smiled, “Thanks Hyeon.” You teleported away.

Hyeon lingered, watching the spot you had just disappeared from for a moment longer. Somehow, he found himself missing your presence. Your perfume lingered in his senses. He looked down at the keychain again before carefully tucking it away in his pocket.

Maybe he would try and find what perfume it was that you were wearing. Just to have around…

~~~

Your time with Mystery—Hyeon, went surprisingly well, in your opinion. Though, there was tension when at an award ceremony, Huntr/x was awarded the most listened to of the week thanks to the climbing popularity of ‘The Baddest.’ Plenty of demonic charm helped with your growing popularity as well.

Your next chance to become closer with the boys came just after the award ceremony. Sprite was covering for you with the girls by making an illusion of you sleeping in your room. Abby—according to Arson, your precious baby boy—had left the Tower on his own to get some air since he was so frustrated at losing to you girls that day.

The man was heading towards the river to clear his head and you teleported ahead, sitting on the edge of the river with your legs dangling over the water. It was a peaceful place. Especially at night when there weren’t a whole lot of people around. Looking out, the city lights reflected off of the water like a wobbly reflection of the night sky.

You heard footsteps approaching you and looked up, locking eyes with the startled Abby. Neither of you said anything. Honestly, you hadn’t really thought this through.

Abby grit his teeth and suddenly leapt at you, summoning his battle axe while you scrambled to dodge the brutal strike with a yelp. You took off running down the sidewalk. “WHAT DID I DO?!” You shrieked. You weren’t Mira. You didn’t enjoy running for your life as men with rainbow star weapons chased you.

Kwan continued chasing you, his teeth grit and his muscles flexing as he pumped his legs as hard as he could. He was sick of these demon girls putting their fans in danger and keeping them from sealing the Honmoon. The pink haired demon girl had been annoying enough when she had led him and Chungae on a chase through the city, mocking them the whole time. “You existed!”

You groaned, your mouth running before you could really think about it, “Ugh, you’re just like my fucking Aunt!”

Abby came to a screeching halt, completely thrown off by what you had just blurted out. He almost fell over with how hard he braked but he was able to catch himself. “Wait a fucking minute, you have an aunt? Demons have families?” He questioned incredulously.

You also slid to a halt, turning to look at him but still ready to run if you had to. “Uhm, yeah? Obviously. Rumi is my sister, you know. Did you seriously think we didn’t?” You couldn’t help but deadpan at him a bit. Hunters really didn’t know anything about demons besides how to kill them.

“No,” Abby shook his head, denying it like it was obvious to assume that living creatures had no other relatives or familial relations of any kind. “I thought it was just a ruse. How do you have an aunt?”

This time you really did deadpan at him. “Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much—“

Abby snarled, cutting you off, “You know that’s not what I meant!” Abby took a deep breath, settling his temper so he could get the answers that he wanted. “Demons don’t have families,” He said stubbornly.

You shook your head, “Most demons come from human souls in one way or another. It’s just a matter of if they remember their human lives.”

Abby made a skeptical face, his grip on his weapon never wavering for a second. “And you do?”

You nodded, re-explaining what you had already told Jinu and Baby. “Three types of demons: first, the kind that are created from the souls Gwi Ma consumes are more inhuman because they don’t remember their human lives. Second, the kind that are born to two demons, they don’t know anything else besides the demon realm. And finally, the kind of demon that humans are turned into after they make a deal with Gwi Ma out of desire or desperation.”

Abby scoffed, intuitively knowing which one you and the other three girls were. The four of you were able to mimic human emotions much better than the other demons the boys had killed. “So what? You made a deal with Gwi Ma for fame? Power?”

Your face fell flat. You didn’t want to talk about it. It still hurt. But it wouldn’t hurt for much longer as long as you fulfilled your mission. “Love, actually,” you answered stoically.

Abby actually did falter, his axe lowering just the slightest bit before he steeled himself and lifted his axe back to aim at you. “You were so desperate for love that you asked the demon king to make someone love you? What? A guy didn’t love you back or something?”

You frowned at Abby’s intentionally cruel words, snapping back at him, “Nobody loved me! Just because I was born different, because I didn’t look how they wanted, nobody loved me.” You looked away from him, a stupid move to make as he still had his weapon. But the old bitter memories choked your throat and left you aching and vulnerable in a way that made it feel like you couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t see his reaction to how pitiful you were.

Meanwhile, Kwan slowly lowered his axe, letting it fade away. It was too familiar. It brought to the surface his own memories that he did his best to keep out of thought, reasoning that it was in the past and didn’t matter anymore. But it still did.

When he was younger, he was the outcast no matter where he went. After he lost his parents when he was young he was put into foster care. All the other kids always avoided him due to his taller height, bigger frame, and frightening features. As he got older, it got worse. Even adults started avoiding him, labeling him a violent delinquent just because of how he looked and how quiet he was. Dance had been his only reprieve.

So he got it.

Quietly, he spoke, “Sorry…” He didn’t know where to look or what to do now. At that moment, you were just a girl that he could relate to.

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I…” Abby sighed, clenching and clenching his fists, frustrated at himself. “I do get it.”

He didn’t say any more about the matter. So you simply nodded slowly, “Okay.”

“Do you wanna get something to eat?” Abby blurted out and you could see panic flash through his eyes. He was cursing his own impulsivity. But you chuckled and nodded, “Sure. Anywhere in mind?”

He nodded, “Yeah, c’mon.” He gestured with his head and you slowly joined his side, the two of you walking together, quietly to wherever Abby had in mind for food—his own small peace offering after saying things he did.

You guys ended up at a street market. It seemed like he came there often as he talked to the elderly stall owners as familiarly as one would with their own grandparents. The two of you had a few different dishes like chicken skewers and tteokbokki. You grimaced when he stopped to get a cup of beondegi. Silkworm pupae.

He noticed your look and held them out to you, chuckling when you stepped back, “What? Never had them before?”

You just eyed them skeptically, “They came way after my time.”

Abby snorted, “Okay, grandma. Here, just try it once.” You whined unsurely but he merely held it out closer to you. “Come on, granny, just one.”

You slowly took one in your fingers, eyeing it with a grimace. Finally, you bit the bullet—or, well, bug—and popped it in your mouth, biting down. You flinched slightly when all the juices came out but then you actually tasted it and calmed down. You hummed.

“And?” Abby asked curiously. “How is it?”

You swallowed. “Not bad. Kind of nutty. But I’m not eating it again.”

Abby shrugged, “Fair enough. At least you tried it.”

The two of you continued on, eating different foods. Whatever you didn’t finish went to his never ending appetite, which was slightly disturbing to see. Eventually, you both were full and had to part ways or else your groups would come looking for you. That is, if the girls realized it was just Sprite back at the apartment.

“Thanks,” You told him softly, not looking directly at him. “For giving me a chance, Abby.”

He didn’t respond for a moment so you started walking away. But then his voice stopped you. “Call me Kwan.” You turned to look back at him in surprise but he put on an air of nonchalance, like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Don’t think this means we’ll go easy on you. We’re still gonna crush you and those other three at the next awards.”

You chuckled, “Sure, Kwan. See ya,” you waved and walked off to find a good spot to teleport from.

Kwan watched you go, conflicted. It was weird how normal and…understood he felt with you. Maybe it was because you both had similar experiences with your appearances. But he didn’t know why nobody would love you, you were beautiful. You must have been gorgeous before your demon patterns.

~~~

Things were going well for you. Almost frighteningly so.

You had made close contact with four out of five of the boys. Well… Jinu and Baby had come to your meetup and hadn’t tried to kill you. You hadn’t really done any actual bonding like you did with Hyeon and Kwan. You might have to do some one on one interactions…

Anyway, you were at least glad that you were able to turn Kwan trying to kill you into him empathizing with you and getting food together. The girls were working on another song to release in case their one song wouldn’t get them high enough on the charts. You also made some progress with your own ideas when you had free time.

But today, Sprite had let you know that the other male pinkette had ventured outside of the Tower on his own. So you changed out of your practice clothes and teleported over. Said male was at the park, breathing in the fresh air and people watching. While also sitting on the most picturesque bench in the whole park since it was surrounded by flowers and shaded trees.

So, you picked a flower and made your way over from behind, leaning your arms on the bench while he was too distracted to notice you. You poked his cheek with the flower and he practically jumped a mile into the air, ending up on the other end of the bench.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, “Hey.”

Chungae looked at you with wide eyes, his gaze darting from the civilians around the park and then to you. You were here. Why were you here. With a flower. He wanted to summon his fans—his weapons fans, not his fanatic fans—to kill you before you became a bigger problem than you already were but he couldn’t do it out in public like this.

“What’re you doing here?!” Romance hissed as you rounded the bench to sit on the opposite end from him.

“Getting some air,” You shrugged your shoulders, fiddling with the stem of the flower.

He narrowed his eyes at you dubiously, “Y’know, you can get in trouble for picking the flowers here.”

You eyed him, “Really? And who’s gonna yell at me?”

Romance deadpanned at you. Then he nudged his head to the side, “They will.” You turned your head to look and, sure enough, there were some park workers walking down the sidewalk.

Your eyes widened and you cursed, “Here, you take it!” You shoved the flower into his hands. “Happy birthday!” You spat out the first words that came to mind, ready to run so you could avoid getting in trouble.

Romance blanched, pushing it back towards you, “Birthday? It’s not my birthday! Take back your felony!” He hissed at you.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” You gritted at him, pushing the flower back towards him.

“It’s not Valentine’s Day!”

“Well, just take it!”

“No!”

The two of you froze a little comically when the park workers walked past the two of you. They were chuckling but they didn’t give the two of you a second glance. When neither of you faced the wrath of the workers, you both sighed a breath of relief, Romance actually taking the flower, “Well, in that case, thanks for the flower, darling.”

You snorted, “No problem, handsome,” You cooed in return jokingly.

You weren’t prepared for the man to blush, looking away shyly to cough into his fist.

Chungae quickly changed the subject, stiffening as he reminded himself that you were a demon that wanted to suck the souls of his fans. “What’re you doing here, again?”

You leaned back against the bench. “I told you, I wanted some air,” You repeated yourself.

“Right,” Romance drawled, looking at you suspiciously. “And I’m here to slaughter children.”

You gasped dramatically, looking at him scandalized, “You are? And here I thought you were this morally upright demon hunter!”

Romance couldn’t help but snort at your dramatics. “It’s called sarcasm, darling. I’m people watching.”

The both of you turned to look around. You looked at the people going about their days, peaceful and content for the most part. “Why? What’s so interesting about it?” You asked.

It’s not that you didn’t people watch either. But you did it because you wanted what normal humans had. Love, happiness, acceptance, safety, comfort. Take your pick, you wanted at least a sliver of one of them. You were curious why the man did it though.

Romance was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “They have something I don’t,” was all he responded with.

And you could understand that.

You merely hummed in understanding, the two of you sitting in silence for a while as you both watched the people around you. There was a woman on the swings with a baby in her lap. Some girls were having a picnic, taking pictures and giggling over their phones. An elderly couple was shuffling down the sidewalk arm in arm. A married couple was sitting at a table with their kid.

Chungae was uncertain about you. He kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were just quietly sitting there, watching people go by about their days. There wasn’t a glimmer of demonic plotting in your eyes, you were just watching… He wasn’t sure what, but there was something about you that he recognized in himself. He should’ve hated it, hated that he could see a part of himself in you, a demon. But, he couldn’t. Because it was a part of him that was still a child on the inside.

“Why are you doing this?” Romance broke the quiet between you.

You didn’t look at him, your eyes on two little girls running through the trees. “I have my reasons.”

He scoffed, “That’s not an answer.”

“It is, it’s just not the one you wanted.”

Romance huffed, the two of you falling into silence again. Despite the slight tension between you, it wasn’t a stifling silence. It was just thoughtful.

You sighed, reminding yourself that in order to succeed you had to have some semblance of vulnerability. “Gwi Ma said he would get rid of a certain memory if I do this.”

Romance turned his head to look at you in surprise. “A memory?” He echoed questioningly.

“From my human life. Before I was a demon,” You explained to him. It was just another point in your theory that the boys didn’t communicate with each other very well. “Not all demons were demons forever. A lot of us still remember our human lives.”

“And…” Romance drawled unsurely, “What’s the memory you want gone?”

You answered vaguely, “Somebody I thought loved me betrayed me.” Everyone you thought loved you ended up betraying you.

“Oh,” Romance answered dumbly. “Well, then it wasn’t real love.”

You looked at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Love isn’t like that. If someone really loves you, then they would never betray you,” Romance explained.

Chungae hoped he sounded sure in his words because he absolutely was not. How could he when he had no idea what love was like? He didn’t remember familial love, friendly love, and he had never experienced romantic love. He was just using his own flawed fantasies and media he had consumed as his expectations for love. That was all he could do.

You weren’t aware of his thoughts as you took his words in. They were comforting, in their own way. You felt validated in your anger and frustration but the hurt was still there. It was okay though. The hurt would go away soon, you reminded yourself.

For now, you simply smiled at the pink haired man, “Thanks Romance.”

“Chungae,” He found himself correcting you. He was surprised at himself but he didn’t take it back, “Call me Chungae.”

Your smile became more genuine, “Thanks Chungae.”

The two of you turned back to watch the people in the park around you. You two were still enemies, but right now? You two were comfortable in the soft space that had formed around you.

~~~

You decided that you should try and get some one on one time with Jinu and Baby.

But it seemed like the two didn’t leave the Tower often—on their own or otherwise. So you would have to have them come to you or you would have to go to them. Your choice was made when Arson left Sprite alone.

You followed Arson to the Tower and teleported up to the balcony. Sprite’s eyes were glowing faintly, a sign that he was using his illusion powers. “What’re you doing?” You muttered to the bird quietly. Sprite merely made his little ko-aw noise. So you peeked through the glass to see what the mischievous little bird was doing and slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from bursting into laughter.

Jinu was standing on top of a chair in the middle of his room, swinging a pillow pathetically at the floor every now and then before instantly regretting it and going back to using it as a shield. On the floor, maybe a dozen or two dozen spiders were crawling along the floor. They weren’t that big, maybe an inch or so big, but they were black and fuzzy with little pincers. One stopped at the base of the chair, looking up at the man. The two stared at each other for a moment, Jinu’s eyes wide and his pupils shrunk. Then the little spider hissed and Jinu jumped, shrieking.

You snorted, sliding the balcony door open easily, “Okay, Sprite, that’s enough. Don’t want to make too much of a ruckus." Jinu’s head whipped around to you as Sprite made a rattling noise that kind of sounded like a laugh before all the spiders faded out of existence. After a moment, you spoke again, “Y’know, you should lock your balcony. Never know who might just come in.”

Jinu still didn’t say anything.

“Nice pants.”

Jinu looked down, his face turning red when he remembered that he was wearing his custom Derpy and Sussie lounge pants that had little hearts and hats around their chibi figures. He tried to scramble down from the chair, “What’re you—“

You winced when he tripped and tumbled from atop the chair as the desk chair with wheels rolled while he was trying to get down. “…Are you okay…?”

He continued to lay face down on his carpet. “…Yeah.” After he took a deep breath, Jinu pushed himself up and looked at her. “What are you doing here?”

You nodded to where Arson was sitting at the bottom of Derpy’s cat tower, the two animals in a strange staring contest. “Arson came to get me when Sprite started his mischief. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Jinu shook his head, habitually answering, “It’s fine.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. He had never had a girl in his space like this before. He wasn’t sure if you being a demon made it better or worse.

You pursed your lips awkwardly and wandered further into his room, “So… what’cha doing?”

Jinu stuttered, darting to his desk to shove some papers in a drawer. For some reason, he didn’t want you to see the draft of lyrics for the Saja Boys’ new song. And not because he didn’t want to ruin the surprise of the diss track. But because he…didn’t want you to see the hateful lyrics. “Nothing. Just, uh…just working on some songs.”

The two of you froze when there was a knock on his door. “Jinu? You alright in there?” Kwan’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“Hide!” Jinu hissed at you, grabbing Arson and shoving the two of you into his closet where all his casual clothes were kept. He slammed the door behind you and you heard him open the door, greeting his member.

You were a little frazzled, turning the flashlight on your phone on so you could see where Jinu had shoved you. You stopped when your light shined on a bookshelf against the wall across from you. It was full of containers. Full of tiny hats.

Meanwhile, Jinu was trying to smile normally at his fellow group member, “Hey, Kwan, what’s up?”

Kwan dubiously lifted a brow at his leader’s shifty behavior. “I heard you screaming like a girl.”

Jinu flushed at the reminder, “I saw a spider…” He admitted quietly.

Kwan snorted, teasingly pushing at his shoulder, “Dude, seriously?”

“It was big!” Jinu defended himself, “And I was working on the song so I didn’t notice it until it was two inches from me!”

Kwan just shook his head in amusement, “Do you need me to get it for you?”

“Nah, Derpy ate it,” Jinu fibbed. The two boys grimaced at the mental image of the cat eating a spider.

“Okay, well I’m heading to bed,” Kwan dismissed himself.

“Kay, night man,” Jinu waved him off.

“Night.”

Jinu shut the door with a sigh of relief, leaning his head against the door as he took a second to calm down. Then he went to the closet to let you out, only to pause when he opened the door. You were sitting on the ground with one of the containers from his shelf next to you, your phone flashing as you took Arson’s picture. The demonic canine was wearing one of Derpy’s crochet mushroom hats. It was too small for the dog but it was still absolutely adorable. Your delighted giggles were quiet and your smile was illuminated by the light of your phone screen.

It was endearing. Cute. Adorable even—and he didn’t mean Arson.

Jinu couldn’t help but smirk fondly and cross his arms, leaning against the doorframe, “Having fun?”

You nodded without looking at him, switching hats so you could take more pictures of Arson, “Yup.”

Jinu chuckled and shook his head, “Come on, you should go before one of the guys catches you here.” He ignored your little whine and pouty lips as he put the hats away and slid the container back into place on his shelf.

Despite your whining, you still stood with a little huff, “Fine. But I will be back for more tiny hats.”

“Sure,” Jinu agreed easily enough and walked you to the balcony, scratching Arson’s head in goodbye.

“Bye Jinu,” You waved with a smile.

He waved back, “Bye (Y/n).” Jinu watched you teleport away and Arson leapt from the balcony, Sprite flying off as well. He slid the balcony closed slowly, pulling the curtains shut once he did.

It was strange how normal he felt with you. His whole life revolved around hunting demons, sealing the Honmoon, and being an idol. But, with you he somehow felt like just another guy.

Sussie chirped and he looked at the bird. Sussie gave him a judging look.

“What?”

Sussie sighed.

~~~

The next time the awards rolled around, the Saja Boys ended up winning as most listened to that week thanks to their new song, ‘Stay Gold.’ As they were given flowers, the four of you clapped with smiles while the boys looked at you smugly. You girls remained unbothered though.

You finally got your chance to talk with the maknae of the boy group when the man left the Tower on his own for once and made his way into the city in disguise. He ducked into a grocery store and you followed him in, the maknae making a B-line straight to the snack and candy aisle.

You wandered past him casually, looking at all the different candies and snacks that you had no idea what they were. You grabbed a bag of rosé topokki chips. He was looking at spicy candies. “Those can’t be good,” You couldn’t help but remark.

Baby looked at you, surprised at your presence. But then he shrugged and went back to deliberating spicy candies. “I like it.”

You shrugged as well, going back to looking at the shelf full of candy for something sweet next. “To each their own.”

The two of you stood there, quietly for a long moment. You kept glancing at each other. “Any recommendations for something sweet but simple?” You eventually asked him, lost in all the flavors and brands.

He sighed like you asked him to do the most difficult thing in the world. He scanned over the options for a second before grabbing some chocolate, “Here.” He tossed it to you and you barely caught it, your heart stuttering at the sudden panic that you would drop it. He chuckled and finally made his own choice, putting one of the bags of candy back. He grabbed a drink, pointedly avoiding the Saja Boys themed soda just in the other cooler. The two of you quietly went to check out.

Jum didn’t have a lot of thoughts about you. You were very human but some moments reminded him that you were a demon. Like, struggling to choose what to get out of a sea of modern flavors. But he couldn’t get that look out of his head. When you had given up fighting them at the bathhouse or when he had asked you why you gave up when you asked them to meet you.

The two of you found a quiet spot to eat your snacks. He chuckled when he heard you hum when you first tried your chocolate. It seemed like you liked it. “We’re writing a song,” He found himself blurting out. “About demons.”

“Oh,” was all you could respond with, chewing slower. “Can’t imagine it’s a very nice song.”

Baby snorted, “It’s not. I can’t say I’m very happy about it.”

You looked over at him in surprise, “Why not?” You asked curiously.

He shrugged, “I worked hard on ‘Stay gold,’ we all did. It’s a song meant to bring us closer together and to our fans but…” he trailed off, shrugging again. “And I work hard on my rapping, our lyrics and a lot of it gets censored or shut down by production because it doesn’t ’fit the image.’” Baby rolled his eyes, citing words it seemed like he had heard a million times over. “The trainers’ idea.”

“I get it,” You told him. He turned his head to look at you dubiously, “I do. I understand some of how you feel. You gotta play a part, a role you don’t like or really fit but you still have to play it.”

Baby was quiet for a moment, just looking at you. Observing and analyzing your expression for a sign that you were lying. But you weren’t. So he nodded, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Can I call you Jum…?” You slowly asked him, fidgeting with the wrapper in your hands. With the other guys, they had given their names to use, but with Baby, after what he had just told you, it didn’t feel right to refer to him as the role he didn’t like to play.

His lips twitched up into a smile, “Yeah. Just when we’re alone though.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes, “Obviously.”

He snorted fondly, “Obviously.”

The two of you continued to eat your snacks contently.

~~~

That night, you ended up staring up at the ceiling above your bed for a long while, mindlessly running your fingers through Arson’s fur.

You were doing good. You were getting closer to the boys like you had been told to do. You were one step closer to finishing this and forgetting all the memories that still gripped your heart like barbed wire. But… there was a growing sense of wrongness.

It was hard to hear yourself think over the quiet hiss of old memories and whispers of Gwi Ma’s voice. However, with the boys, the volume became quieter, duller and easier to ignore somehow.

You felt like you were going crazy.

You couldn’t let your mind linger on them like this, not when the next step of the girls’ plan was coming up. The Saja Boys were having their first fan event in a while soon and you all planned to crash it and take it over. You had to be ready to see all of them at once, to watch for the little cracks in their group so you could split them open when the time came.

You ignored the twisting in your chest.

A/N: When Kwan says that you must’ve looked gorgeous before your patterns, he’s not trying to be an asshole, he’s just thinking in the context that you must’ve grown up in where society wouldn’t have accepting any ‘deformities’ like the patterns. If that makes sense…?

Outtakes:

…

Bobby: “So what’ve you guys been up to lately?”

Hyeon: *Spending time with you*

Kwan: *Spending time with you*

Chungae: *Spending time with you*

Jinu: *Spending time with you*

Jum: *Spending time with you*

Saja Boys: …

Saja Boys: “Nothing much.” “Boring stuff.” “Gym.” “Sleeping.” “Song stuff.”

…

Zoey: “Hey, should we be doing our jobs and trying to get closer to the boys?”

You: *Emotionally conflicted, struggling, juggling five men*

Polytr/x: *cuddling on the couch watching romcoms*

Polytr/x: “Nah, it’s fine.”

…

Saja Boys: *side eyeing each other while contemplating sharing that they’ve been spending time with you but don’t want to admit they have for fear of being yelled at for not killing a demon*

You: *narrowing your eyes at the idiots* “Guys. Communication.”

…

Tag List: @jaybbygrl @aurorab-0-realis @minthoneynbasil @thatonegrimm @n0tbelle @reverie-sxno @gremlinartstudio @littlepotaaatosimp @mvskedxrtist @lluxentzz @closehereyes @lyunsafebubble @ashleygryffindor @whimsiecat @towfuu1 @thesimpbella @fries11 @lov3ly-3m @teenyfinds @arieslucy @boldlyenchantingfox22 @mel3484 @lizzymizzy-blogg @fastleopard1521 @cultish-corner @kitkatpattywack2808 @tsukimoon-chan @alleakimlala @yandereobsession @sherzzzzz @otherworldlover @hawarun @f1shst1xx @avadakadabra93 @moonthesleepyhead @sra7riddle-malfoy @beautifulpeoplebeautifulpr0blems @boo-shalala @venommie @magical-spit @neverending-animelove @nerdsconquerall @eli1412 @imjusthereforthecake @moochiwoochi @a-writer-with-anxiety @sexually-attracted-to-pans @katzline @uniquecutie-puffs @forgetfulsmols

[yawnzshit]

PRI'S FIC RECS : SUPERMAN EDITION.

[ ♡ ] : personal favourites.

🎙️ i will be adding more to this list as I read :) enjoy ! and extra shoutout to the authors who wrote these <3 love you guys!! also pls feel free to dm me with more recs! i will gladly add them here :)

extra p.s these are x reader fics...i don't mind ship fics but i don't read them so i can't rec those :")

My Hero by @jungkooklover777 [ 11k ]

synopsis : an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?

notes : office!romance au ; me and slow burn go hand in hand.

unfold your love by @junleb [ 6.8k ]

synopsis : jimmy olsen and the mystery of two idiots who are definitely not in love

notes : coworkers!au ; cutesy, loved it!!!!

clark kent's love language by @ilyasorokinn [ 1.4k ] [ ♡ ]

synopsis : clark thinks his love language is to keep you safe. he likes to check in on you every once in a while during the day. one afternoon, his daily check-in's prove to be necessary.

notes : i loved this sm :( can i have a clark kent pls

a lesson in trust falling by @swordgrace [ 1.6k ]

synopsis : you’re not fond of flying — thankfully, your boyfriend is superman.

notes : established!relationship au ; GUYS PLS READ THIS NOW!! as someone with a bit of a fear of flying this is so perf <3

stop avoiding me by @killishin

coworkers!au ; superhero!reader

notes : VERY CUTESY!!!

take a deep breath and let the rest come easy by @indouloureux

synopsis : sometimes sunlight just isn't enough for superman to heal. so there's a reason why he comes home to you every night. 

notes : i love him ur honour.

clark kent bf texts by @writingmeraki

notes : everyone deserves a bf clark 🙏🙏🙏

! SMUT SECTION [ read the warnings ! ]

but he doesn't like me, does he? by @sillyswriting [ 12.7k] [ ♡ ]

synopsis : There was one thing you knew for sure, absolutely certain: Clark Kent didn’t like you. Not in an angry or rude way, he was still polite, still himself. But you could feel it. His body language and attitude gave everything away. Your coworkers kept insisting you were wrong, but then why did he keep avoiding you?

notes : coworkers!au ; LOVED LOVEDD THISSS YOUR HONOUR I WANT THIS PLEASE PLEASEEE

THE INTERVIEW NO ONE CAN EVER KNOW ABOUT by @louisaskywalkerani

synopsis : (yes, that one. the countertop one.)

notes : yeah. JUST YEAH. READ THIS.

untitled by @jordiemeow [ 1.9k]

synopsis : your boyfriend clark always seems to find the light in everything. but with several hard fights back to back ending in numerous civilian casualties to weigh him down, he just needs a gentle touch to soothe him and coax him back to his former brightness.

notes : cute adorable soft smut, my fave

untitled by @softvalentines

notes : yeah i get it, i soooo do. thank you for this 🙏🙏🙏🙏

clark kent masterlist by @diorchids

notes : thank you author for your service for the horny(me) bitches 🙏🙏🙏 linking your entire masterlist cause yes.

...more to come!

[kumasakka]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 ! ❞

　you are just their type — moments they realise they either got a crush on your or random moments with you and it gets into his head !

featuring. surebrec rudo , nijiku zanka , enjin !

content. 3.2k wc , up to 1.0k words per drabble / oneshot , fluff , slight crack , spoiler free , safe for minors , he fell first and harder (rudo and enjin) , one-sided enemies to lovers (zanka).

author’s note. really had fun with this and also struggles — considering I haven’t read any stories or oneshots and it’s hard for me to characterise them with only the manga </3

SUREBREC RUDO , that girl in the bakery who’s overly sweet like candy.

　"THIS is be my favourite mission of all time..." the boy murmured under his breath.

Standing tall in front of the little bakery, he gaped at the beautiful sight. It was perfect. This was the first time, Rudo got assigned to buy some sweets for team Akuta.

Not the most exciting »mission« but this was from now on Rudo's favourite task. Despite doing it for the first time. "Look at his face..!" Riyo tried her best to muffle her laughter.

"I am—" and Enjin didn't even hold back, not even trying to hide his amusement as he bursted into a fit of laughter. "Have fun and don't take too long."

"Yes!" Rudo exclaimed, posture stiff all of a sudden. "I... I will now enter the... bakery?"

"Give us a call when you're done." Enjin breathed out and put his hands into the pocket, already making his way out with Riyo. "Let's check out the other stores."

Even though they've already visited all the other stores of the town — after all, they were regulars here. Buying here sweets from the same person, it was almost their daily task.

Definitely daily after Rudo came into the picture, obsessing over the small treats in large portions. And because he's the reason why they don't have anything anymore, he might be as well the same guy who buys it.

His large red eyes stay glued to the door, his scrawny and thin figure not even moving an inch. And then after a good few minutes, he finally dares to raise his hands into the air, reaching out for the handle.

Rudo gulped nervously. Unblinking eyes staring at the handle now. Is he shaking? God, he is helpless. No one can help him anymore. But he pushed the doubt aside for the sake of the sweets.

Why was he so nervous? He just has to buy some food. Sweets in small yet fine bakery. That's not, nothing more and nothing less. From now on, he will do it almost daily so it's not a big thing.

I can do it.

Finally, he dared to continue and opened the door. A small bell rang as soon as he entered the bakery, couldn't help but flinch in surprise. A scent of fresh baked pastry hit his nose.

Oh. It smelled heavenly.

"Welcome, En—" she halted mid sentence and gazed at the dumbfounded boy. "Oh, I'm sorry... I assumed you'd be Enjin because he stood in front of the door."

"Enjin..?" he repeated, still frozen on spot while the door closed behind him.

"What can I get for you?" her lips curled into a warm smile.

He blinked. What did she ask? Now he realised. Quickly, he scrambled around and searched for the list he had with him, given by Enjin. "I uh... Errm... W-Well..." he muttered, sweat forming on his forehead.

Oh no! Where was his list?

"Mmh come closer." she ushered him, signing to stand in front of the counter.

"O-Oh..." he stiffly made his way to the counter, list already forgotten.

"First of all, calm down." she chuckled and tried to help him — to focus instead of panic. To keep a cool head. "And then resume back to searching the list."

"Ah..." he trailed off, slowly coming back to his senses through her simple instructions.

His hands find themselves in his bag again, grabbing out a piece of paper and then handing her it. Easy, quick, simple. She smiled at him once more and accepted the list.

"Ah, so you are part of Enjin's team." she noted quickly as soon as she saw the listed things. "You must be new?"

"Y-Yeah!" he didn't hesitate to agree.

"This is the order. I already grabbed the usual after seeing Enjin but he didn't enter so I wondered why." she grabbed a bag from underneath the counter, "yet it seems like you're here to pick up the order today. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to... meet you." Rudo blinked at her words and watched how she was sliding the bag towards him.

"I'm [name]." she introduced herself as he placed a bag of coins on the counter.

"I'm... Rudo. Err nice to meet you too." he repeated himself, making her chuckle.

"Here." she slid some coins from the bag back to him.

"Uh I think Enjin said the amount was right..." he said in a mix of confusion and bewilderment.

"Yes, it is. But since you're from the cleaners, you always get ten percent off plus another ten percent because you're new." she explained, leaving out the part where she'd always argue with Enjin.

Enjin, who would never take up her offer and always gives her the right amount, versus her, who always offers the cleaners minus ten percent because of their help to keep the town in contact.

"R-Really?" he hesitated.

"Of course." she beamed and ended it with a final, "don't tell Enjin this, alright? Keep the money and buy yourself nice."

"Ahh." he gaped, hand hovering above the coins as he contemplated if he should actually accept it. He placed his gloved hands over them and slid it back to her. "No need..! You should buy yourself something nice."

She blinked in surprise. "Are you sure?" she questioned, and as an answer he could only nod. "Alright..." she trailed off before she accepted it. "Have a good day, Rudo."

"T-Thanks..." he stuttered.

One thing — the way his name rolled off her tongue, so easily and so familiar. It felt strange. In a good way. It made his stomach feel so fuzzy and warm, warm like his cheeks. She talked with him as if they were old friends.

"Goodbye, I hope we will see each other again." she send him the sweetest smile he's ever seen.

"B-Bye..." his cheeks reddened even more, immediately taking the bag and stiffly walking out of the bakery.

This was too much for his heart.

"Greet the others for me!"

"...I will!" he replied firmly this time and escaped the hot bakery. It was hot as hell.

Actually it wasn't hot. Rudo's face was just heating up.

But he really likes you.

NIJIKU ZANKA , that girl in his team who worries too much — because of him.

　"I'M telling you..! He totally hates me and I can prove that." you cried out in sadness and sorrow.

"Oh yeah?" Enjin hummed, not even minding to listen to you as he popped another sweet treat into his mouth. "Doesn't seem like it though."

"What are you saying?" you deadpanned and heaved out a sigh.

With him you mean Nijiku fricking Zanka, fanboy number one when it was about Enjin. You are sure of it, that guy totally hates your guts — no he hates you with the bottom of his heart.

You can recall that one time when you were training with Rudo while also teaching him new things about the ground, bringing him more into the new environment he was in.

"Hah..." Rudo panted out in tiredness as he backed away from your attack.

"Don't get distracted so easily just because I'm telling more things about the ground." you warned and shook your head in disapproval, "if I were to fight seriously as an enemy, you probably would've been long gone."

"Sorry! It won't happen again..!" he apologised stiffly, suddenly feeling bad.

"Are you feeling guilty?" you sweat dropped and send him a comforting smile. "Sorry for being so harsh. Don't mind apologising."

"But I'm wasting your time..." he frowned as he continued, "you're teaching me two things at the same time and I'm still not adapting... Don't you have other things to do?"

"Rudo, you worry too much." you chuckled, "learning things takes time. You can't expect to adapt so quickly and actually, you're doing real good. Just forget about my schedule."

Semiu is killing you later anyway.

"Still—"

"Yer hidin' here, huh?" another voice joined, making your heads turn. "Stealin' my apprentice now, aren't we?"

"Good to see you, Zanka." you offered him the best smile you could offer, "I didn't mean to steal him. You were so busy and Rudo was eager to learn something new."

"Y-Yeah..! It isn't [name]'s fault." Rudo chimed in.

"Well, I'm free now. Let's get going. I can teach ya." he stared at the two of you with unnerving eyes.

"Sorry." you apologised briefly. "I didn't—"

"No need to apologise." he cut you off. "Rudo is just wastin' yer time."

You finished telling the story and sulked in a corner, continuing to sip your milk tea. "And then he took Rudo with him, leaving me behind." you sighed out for the nth time this day.

"Really?" Enjin question in disinterest.

"Are you even listening?" you glared at the male and leaned against your palm. "The other time, while we were sparring... He just left as soon as he defeated me! He ran away, Enjin! I wanted to congratulate him even..!"

Right. You remember it like it was yesterday.

The sound of various weapons clashing echoed on the field as you narrowed your eyes, holding onto your needle-like weapons before rushing towards your sparring partner.

Zanka was quick to analyse your movements and blocked your attack with his love stick, using force to push you back. You changed the grip around the handle, about to stab him from upwards.

Yet he was able to dodge and kick the side of you as a reflex.

It hurt as hell. You could feel the air getting squeezed out of your lungs despite getting hit by the side, stumbling to the side. "Ack..!" you breathed out and held your side.

"Ah." he froze on spot and stared at you.

"That really hurt... You are too good." you huffed out with a last effort smile, "it was a good match—"

He brushed past you, quickly walking away and leaving you behind on the field again — without another word and another sound. Not even minding your praise as he already disappeared.

"Uh was that guy for real?" you covered your face with your hands and peeked through your fingers. "You asshole didn't even listen."

"Clearly." now he did, no shame or guilt in his voice. He did not listen to a word you said.

"Asshole." you clicked your tongue and threw a macaroon at his face — which he easily caught with his mouth.

"Thanf fer feeding me." his voice was muffled.

"I cannot deal with you." you cried and stood up, making your way out of the room. "I will never listen to your rambles again!"

Mind you, Enjin does not care right now.

"Seriously..! I already miss Rudo and Riyo and Eishia and Semiu!" you huffed and crossed the hallway.

"[name]." you froze again, immediately stopping at the voice as you stumbled slightly.

"Zanka." you replied stiffly and met his eyes dumbfounded. "Aren't you supposed to be on a mission with Rudo and Riyo?"

"Finished early. It was easier than expected." he explained briefly, eyes trailing down.

"That's good for you." you beamed in joy.

"Uh thanks..."

Now it was awkward.

"Errr well then... I have to go now! See you." you excused yourself and immediately ran away, no longer wanting to spend your time with someone who hated your guts.

"Okay. Bye." he watched how the air turned into dust.

And as soon as you weren't there anymore? Zanka's hand formed into a fist, which he raised into the air — cheeks heating up and a proud expression on his face.

This conversation was a total success! You two exchanged more words than usual the last days. Perhaps he will never admit it, though he does have the biggest crush on you.

First of all, you are very diligent when it was about your job as a cleaner. Working hard and getting recognised by the whole team for your diligence. And you even are able to help everyone despite a busy schedule.

Second of all, you are the cutest. Always giving him the sweetest smiles and always lighting up whenever he talked with you. And when you were beaming right now? You must be the sun itself.

Third of all, you are the only sane one next to Riyo, Rudo— the list goes on and on. He believes you are the only one with a sane mind.

Zanka will not let Rudo occupy your precious time and he absolutely felt bad when he hurt you during sparring. He should never ever dare to spare with you again or else he'll hurt you again.

"Wow, you look like a total fanboy." Riyo spoke up, catching how Zanka stood there in all his glory with his fist pumped into the air and a proud expression set on his face.

Perhaps he should return to his room again.

ENJIN , that woman who’s cheeky yet not in a childish way — rather cute.

　"RIGHT..." you trailed off while gazing at the game you lost.

"Feels nice to win again you." he admitted with a satisfied chuckle, leaning back into the seat.

"Oh really? What makes it so nice?" you questioned, curiosity simmering in your eyes.

Your hands were swift to collect all the cards again, now beginning to shuffle them new again to continue the various games. "Simple, you always win. Got a keen eye for lies and all, huh?"

"I feel honoured." you chuckled at his praise and handed out the cards again.

Playing poker with you was fun despite losing all the time. He always got to see you so focused, making out the lies hidden behind his useless facade. Spending time with you in general was fun.

Honestly speaking, he would love to spend the rest of his life with you. He will never forget the quiet excitement and joy whenever he sees you, talk with you or play with you.

You make his most boring days fun. That's what he absolutely loves about you. Yellow eyes staring at your figure, following every movement and taking in every detail of you.

"Enjin, it's your turn." it was a soft push into reality out of his thoughts.

"Really? Sorry." he apologised with the usual grin.

"I noticed you've been getting distracted lately." you noted and placed the cards on top of the table again, "let's take a break. I mean, we've been playing for two hours already."

He doesn't mind. He would play even more hours with you if you'd like to. Despite his busy schedule — he doesn't even follow that schedule anyway. Never has, never will.

"But you want to play." he followed your actions slowly.

"I did. Yet we played for long. A break won't hurt." a chuckle left your lips as you got to stretch your tired limps.

"Alright." he agreed without another complaint and leaned back again, hands instinctively reaching out for a cigarette and lighter.

"Do you think Rudo will feel comfortable here?" you worried slightly and grabbed a snack, a stick covered in chocolate.

"Perhaps not now, but sooner or later he will get used to the new environment. I'm sure he'll feel better in the future, with the cleaners. With us." he assured you, lips parting to place the cigarette between them, "Don't worry—"

"Woops." you let out as you interrupted him, the sweet treat already in his mouth instead of the cigarette. "Sorry."

"I know damn well you ain't sorry." he blinked, a little dumbfounded. "You're pretty slick, aren't you?"

"Because I worry about your health too. Smoking isn't the best, you know? I would rather have you get cavities instead of not-working lungs mid thirties." your lips curled into a smile.

"You worry too much." the male chuckled and dropped the things again, accepting the defeat and embracing your demand with open arms.

"Maybe I worry too little." a sigh escaped your lips as you grasped the cigarette between your fingers.

The blond-haired man tilted his head and hummed under his breath, smirk everlasting on those lips of his. "Nah, let's meet in the middle. You worry the right amount." he bite off the tip of the stick.

"How about another round?" you questioned, eyes staying glued to the cards.

"Sure. Whatever you want."

"Let's play blackjack." you began to shuffle the cards again, this time handing out two cards each, one of them open for the other player to see. "If I win, you'll stop smoking for a month."

"Oh? Now we're playing with prices?" he took a glimpse of his hidden card, not glancing at you yet. "What if I win?"

"That's for you to decide." you smiled as soon as you saw your other card. "Are you drawing another one or are you fine with your pair?"

"Hit." he drew another card and clicked his tongue.

"I think... I will do the same. Hit."

"What if I want..." you. he sealed his lips, contemplating if he should continue, "nevermind. Let me think about it after the game."

"Mysterious, aren't we?" you blinked slowly and watched how he drew another card. "I'm fine with my current hand."

"Ah really? Hit." he drew another card, taking a short look. "Busted."

"Really?" your eyes had a joyful gleam in them as you threw your cards to the table, open for him to see. "I won the bet!"

"Congrats." he grinned at your delight and slid the lighter towards you, paired with a pack of cigarettes. "Here is your reward."

"Yay." you didn't waste another second to pocket them, questioning curiously, "What did you want as a reward?"

"That's a secret."

"Come on..!" you sulked lightly, the curiosity getting the best of you.

"Mmh, you really wanna know?" he teased you even more.

"I do." you collected all cards again, "you want money? Or maybe more snacks? Or... Uh erm, I don't know."

"A..." kiss he trailed off and then proceeded to cover his face with one hand. "Nevermind."

"Huh!? You were about to tell me..!" you groaned and glared at him fiercely. "I will find out anyway."

"One day? Perhaps." he murmured and breathed out.

"Don't be shy. I won't tell anyone else." you whispered, "you can trust me—"

"[name]!" your attention turned to the red-haired girl, who stood at the entrance to the room.

"Riyo, what's wrong?" you leaned back to your seat, cushion softening the force back.

"Can you brush my hair?" she rubbed her eyes.

"Of course." you lifted yourself from the couch and made your way to the young girl, "why aren't you asleep yet? It's too late for you."

"Erm it's also late for you..."

"No, I'm an adult and allowed to. You are still a kid." you pat her head and turned back to Enjin, a smile painting your face. "I think I'll also go to sleep soon. Good night and sleep well, Enjin."

"Good night..." he didn't meet your gaze, head directed up and his gaze on the ceiling.

"And you will also go to sleep after I brushed your hair, yes?"

"Fine."

"It's yes ma'am... Humour me a but, Riyo."

"Yes, ma'am!"

A chuckle left his lips as the voices faded into the background the further away you two got — now making your way to Riyo's room. Aren't you a sweet one? You should know.

That he tries his best to hold himself back.

© 2025 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !

[moonqz]

CRACKS IN THE CALM : Bigbang x reader (series of oneshots / headcanons)

Pairings : Kwon Jiyong / Choi Seunghyun / Kang Daesung

description : Reader lashes out for the first time

genre : slight angst! with comfort , fluff

contents / warnings : crying, very small indications of Seunghyun past, slight angst with lots of comfort, quite long

requested by anon ❕ thank you so much for the request <3

Kwon Jiyong : his work seems more important than you

It wasn’t the first time he cancelled on you. No where near the first time.

That’s what made it worse.

You were already dressed, makeup done, hair styled. Your reflection in the mirror looked like someone waiting to be seen. You had even packed up the wine you’d brought for tonight’s dinner at the studio, trying to compromise, to meet him halfway like you always did.

The overbearing sound of the phone buzzed as you zipped up your bag,

“I’m so sorry Jagi, can we rain check? Things are running late again”

Your hands clenched around your phone.

Again.

Just like last Thursday. Just like the weekend before that. Always another time. Always later. You were always rescheduled, like a meeting without urgency. You weren’t even being rescheduled anymore. Just a cancellation in his calendar to free up more time.

There was no ‘I love you’ ‘I’ll make it up to you’ Nothing.

And this time, it broke you.

When he got home, it was after 2 AM. You were on the couch, still in your dress, makeup still mostly intact. Not sleeping. Not waiting. Just sitting.

He paused at the door, surprised to see you awake. His face lit up for a brief second, until he saw your eyes.

“You’re still up?” he asked, voice soft, like he thought he could still tiptoe past the storm.

“I didn’t want to go to sleep without you.” Your voice wasn’t cold. But it was distant. Whether it was from the effort of staying up late, or the mental exhaustion, you didn’t know.

He closed the door quietly behind him, shrugging his jacket off and onto the table, forgotten. “Jagi, I’m really sorry. The producer wanted to tweak-”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Don’t tell me about the producer or the song or the last-minute mix. I know the excuses. I’ve heard them before Ji”

He blinked. “Excuses?” he questioned, as if he didn’t know exactly why you were upset.

You stood up, your hands shaking slightly, your eyes slightly blurring from the effort of keeping yourself from falling apart in front of him.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t try to hide it. “You make time for the studio. You make time for the label. For interviews. For fans. But me? You fit me in when it’s convenient. You cancel on me again and again like I’m an afterthought.”

Jiyong opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him.

“I’m not your employee, Jiyong. I’m not part of your to-do list. I’m supposed to be the person you come home to, not someone you text apologies to every night.”

His jaw tightened. Not in anger, but in guilt.

You let out a bitter laugh, tears brimming now. “You say you love me, but love isn’t just words. It’s time. It’s effort. And I’m getting everything but that from you. Ji we love together and I’ve barely saw you for three weeks”

You had never raised your voice to him before. Never been upset over him before. As far as he knew at least. But he saw the weight of exhaustion in your expression, the way you carried yourself. It wasn’t just about him being busy, it was about how he was treating you in the process

He could see the hurt in your eyes. And it wasn’t just about tonight, it was everything that had built up and been swallowed for months.

And now it was bleeding out.

He dropped his bag slowly. Crossed the room, hesitant, like he didn’t know if he had the right to be close to you right now.

“I didn’t know you felt this way,” he said quietly.

“That’s because you’ve been too busy to notice,” you whispered. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to seem clingy, and I wanna be supportive of your work, I really do, and I’ve been patient. But now… I don’t even feel like I have a boyfriend anymore. Just a name on my lock screen.”

He exhaled through his nose, frustrated, mostly with himself.

“I thought you understood how things are when I’m working on an album.”

“I do understand,” you said, your voice lower now, but just as sharp. “But understanding doesn’t mean I don’t feel lonely. Or pushed aside. I’m not asking you to stop working. I’m asking for balance. For a night where you actually come home at a decent hour. Or where you don’t reschedule for the fourth time, just for us to have dinner together”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I’ve been sitting here for hours, thinking of what excuse you’d send this time. And the worst part is, I don’t even blame you anymore. I blame me, for letting it keep happening.”

He took a slow step forward again, “Y/N…”

“I rearranged my day for you. Bought your favorite wine. Put on that dress you like. And I knew. I knew you wouldn’t pull through. But I still tried. Because that’s what I always do, right? I try. And you-”

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice not to crack.

“You keep choosing your work over me. Over us. And I’m supposed to just keep understanding.”

He ran a hand over his face, visibly exhaling. “That’s not fair. I’m not choosing it over you, Y/N. It’s my job. It’s what keeps everything moving. It’s who I am.”

“And I get that, and I’ve been getting that for however long now. I knew what I was getting into when I fell in love with you”

He looked at you then, really looked, and finally seemed to notice the shift in your expression. This wasn’t a tantrum. It wasn’t a plea for attention.

It was the beginning of a boundary.

You stepped away before he could reach for you.

“I never asked you to give it all up,” you continued, voice faltering ever so slightly. “I knew what your life looked like. But what I didn’t sign up for was being a placeholder. Someone you see between deadlines. Someone who waits for their turn, who smiles and says, ‘It’s okay, I understand,’ when she really doesn’t anymore.”

His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t.

Because what could he say?

That you were wrong?

That you didn’t feel the loneliness of sleeping in a cold bed?

That your texts didn’t go unanswered for entire days while he holed up in some studio across the city?

He couldn’t deny it. Not when the silence between you had stretched so far it barely resembled love anymore.

“I didn’t know you felt this way,” he finally said, quieter. The weight of his treatment towards you finally came crashing down on him. And you were the one person he swore to himself he’d never make feel like a burden or a second option.

“I didn’t let myself feel it,” you admitted, tears burning behind your eyes but refusing to fall. “Because I was scared that once I said it out loud, I couldn’t take it back. That you’d leave. Or that I’d realize you already had.”

He closed the distance between you, slow and unsure. “I haven’t left Jagi”

“But you haven’t really been here either.”

The words landed, and you saw it in his expression, the ache, the guilt, the understanding that had come too late.

And then�� something shifted.

He reached for your hand. This time, you let him.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he said, voice rough at the edges. “I’ve just been so consumed, trying to make this comeback perfect. Proving to everyone that I still belong here. That I haven’t lost it. I guess I didn’t realize I was losing you in the process.”

You swallowed, hard.

“Jiyong you don’t even try anymore. You barely even say you love me anymore, you don’t attempt to reschedule, you just cancel, come home at ridiculous hours call it a night and don’t even say anything in the morning. I never needed perfection, I get you’re busy and I do get it. But it’s hard to fully understand when I feel like I’m being forgotten”

He nodded, slowly. Pulled you into his chest and held you tightly, chin resting on your head.

You stood there for a long moment, finally letting the tears come, but they were silent. Slow.

“I don’t want this to be the way we work,” you whispered. “I don’t want to keep breaking just to be seen.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” he murmured. “You deserve more than my leftovers. You deserve to feel like a priority. I’m sorry it took this to wake me up. I’m sorry Jagi, I’m here now”

You didn’t say I forgive you. Not yet. Because forgiveness isn’t immediate, it’s something that unfolds, gently, over time.

But you let yourself lean into him.

That was a start.

“Don’t cry over me Jagi, too pretty to cry” He murmured against your hair, pressing small kisses to the crown of your head.

The next morning, you woke to an unfamiliar stillness. The light came in soft, like it knew better than to intrude.

It filtered through the curtains in slow golden strips, warming the edges of the sheets tangled around you. For a moment, you didn’t remember where you were, only that your body ached with exhaustion, not from movement, but from everything that had weighed on your heart the night before.

Then you felt him.

Jiyong was curled around you from behind, one arm slung gently across your middle, palm resting against your stomach like he was trying to make sure you were still real. His breath brushed the back of your neck, warm and even. No alarms. No vibrations from his phone. No tension in his limbs like usual.

Just stillness.

Just him.

You shifted slightly and felt his grip tighten, instinctive and protective.

He stirred. “Mm… you awake?”

You nodded, but didn’t move. “Yeah.”

He nuzzled against the space behind your ear, his voice still hoarse with sleep. “Good.”

A long pause settled between you, heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence where words weren’t needed immediately, where two people just were.

“I thought maybe you’d leave,” he said quietly, like it was something that had haunted him in his sleep.

You turned toward him then, slowly, meeting his eyes. They were tired but soft, rimmed with apology, darker in the morning light. He looked at you like you were a fragile thing, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to still be lying beside you.

“I didn’t want to leave,” you said, voice low. “I just wanted you to see me.”

“I do now,” he whispered. “God, I do.”

He cupped your cheek gently with one hand, thumb brushing beneath your eye, where the faint trace of tears still lingered. “I keep replaying what you said last night. Every word. You didn’t say anything wrong. You were just finally honest. And I..I needed to hear it.”

You nodded once. The anger had drained, but the ache remained. Still, it wasn’t sharp anymore. Just tender.

“You always show up for your art,” you murmured. “I just want you to show up for me, too. Just a little.”

“I will,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I swear I will. I’m going to learn how to balance it. I’m not proud of how far I let it go.”

You leaned your head against his chest. His arms wrapped around you fully this time, holding you close like he meant it.

And for once, he didn’t pull away first.

“I turned off my phone,” he added, his voice against your hair. “No calls. No messages. Just us today. I don’t care what I miss.”

Your brows lifted a little in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Mm..We’ll stay here all morning. Then we’ll have a bath, light some candles. Then I’ll take you out to that restaurant you like” He quietly mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear it. But it meant everything to you.

“Thank you..I didn’t mean you had to cancel work-“

“I wanted to. We both deserve it. Go back to sleep baby” He kissed your temple once, twice, three times before laying back down properly, you curled up in his arms for the first time in forever. And as much as you needed it. He needed it too. It just took him longer to realise.

“I just want to take care of you for once.”

His fingers laced gently through yours beneath the covers. You glanced down at your intertwined hands, then back up at him. He looked serious in a way that didn’t feel performative. Like the weight of what almost slipped through his fingers had finally settled in.

“I missed this,” you said, softer now.

“Me too,” he replied. “But I’ll stop missing it. I’ll keep it.”

Choi Seunghyun : Now you know that sometimes silence doesn’t mean peace. Sometimes, it means hiding

Seunghyun didn’t argue when you stopped mid-sentence and walked out of the room.

That’s how you knew it had happened again. He was shut out.

You had been trying, really trying, to talk about something that mattered. Something real. Something that involved feelings. Yours. His. The way it always felt like you were the only one emotionally showing up for this relationship.

But the second it got hard, the second your voice started shaking, he pulled back. Not physically, no. But emotionally? He may as well have left the room.

That wall of his, you hated it. That subtle shift in his voice, the way his eyes grew colder, more distant. Like he’d trained himself to shut down any time something threatened to make him vulnerable.

You’d seen it before, but tonight it broke something in you.

Because this time, you needed him to meet you in the discomfort. You needed more than half of him. Needed to feel like he was actually here and not a hologram.

And he didn’t offer it.

So you left the conversation mid-air, heart pounding, hands trembling, and locked yourself in the bedroom.

Not crying. Not screaming.

Just… finally done holding it all in.

You weren’t sure how long you sat curled at the edge of the bed, knees pulled to your chest. You didn’t want to scream or throw things. You weren’t even sure you wanted to talk.

You just wanted him to care enough to come after you.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

“Y/N…?” His voice was low, uncertain. Careful. In all honestly he had no idea how he was meant to approach this.

You didn’t answer right away.

The knob turned slowly. He entered, closing the door behind him with a faint click. His eyes scanned the room, then landed on you. Small. Quiet. Wrapped in something more than frustration.

He hesitated a step away from the bed. “Can I…?”

You nodded once, and he sat down, not too close, not touching, but there.

That was something.

“I know I pulled back,” he said after a long silence. “I always do.”

You stared ahead, voice tight. “Do you ever wonder how that feels? To be on the other side of it?”

His hands clenched lightly in his lap.

“I’m not asking you to bleed out your trauma,” you said, your voice finally cracking around the edges. “I’m just asking you to let me see you. To stop shutting me out every time things get uncomfortable. You say you love me, but I don’t even know what that looks like to you. You don’t let me feel it.”

He looked stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to say that out loud.

“I’m tired of walking on eggshells. Of pretending I’m okay with one word texts and polite silences and you flinching every time I ask how your day really was.” You turned to face him now, eyes glassy. “I don’t want the filtered version. I don’t need the performer. I fell in love with you, but half the time I don’t know if you’re even here.”

Seunghyun swallowed. “I don’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“I know,” you said. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

You weren’t accusing him. You weren’t demanding. But the weight of your honesty sat heavy in the room.

He looked down, knuckles white. “It’s not that I don’t feel things. I do. Maybe too much.”

You stayed quiet. Let him speak.

“I grew up believing that silence was safer. That feelings made things fall apart. Every time I let someone in, it ended badly. So now, when I get close to people I actually care about…” He shook his head, lips tugging downward. “I shut down. It’s like muscle memory. I can’t stop it fast enough.”

“Im not them Seunghyun..” Your voice was quiet. Hesitant. But held the weight of so many things unsaid finally being tore open.

“I know that, I do, I promise I know that” He didn’t want you to feel like he didn’t trust you. Cause he did. He just wasn’t sure how to handle that.

He reached up then, brushing his thumb carefully along your cheek where a tear had begun to slip down. His brow furrowed, like it physically pained him to see it.

“I hate that I made you feel like this baby.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing for a moment. “I didn’t want to lash out tonight. I didn’t plan it. I just… I hit a wall.”

“I needed the wake up call,” he said quietly.

You looked at him again, this time really looked. He wasn’t wearing a mask now. No cool indifference. No practiced detachment.

Just Seunghyun.

Tired. Worn. Trying.

“I want to work on this,” he said. “With you. I can’t promise I’ll always get it right, but I’ll show up. Even if it’s messy.”

You nodded, chest tight with everything you’d wanted to hear for weeks. “That’s all I ever asked.”

He pulled you into him then, carefully, gently, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to. But once you were in his arms, he didn’t let go. His hands cradled the back of your head, your spine, like he was learning your shape all over again.

“I’m here baby, I promise I’m here” he murmured against your hair, his touch wasn’t touch but it was firm. A reminder to himself that you were really there.

“I’ve got you- it’s okay” You mumbled back, your words alone comforting him more than any avoiding did.

The next morning was a blur of tussled bedsheets and the sound of a coffee machine in the mere distance.

Before you could stretch and properly wake up, or even acknowledge the fact it’s a new day, Seunghyun walked in, coffee poured into the glass and straw he knew you loved drinking from for some weird reason.

“I saw you stirring” he explained, hesitant as if he should be making excuses as to why he made you coffee.

Your smile was small, sleep ridden. But he knew you appreciated the gesture more then most would.

“Thank you” your voice slurred slightly as you properly woke up, sitting up just slightly to sip the coffee he handed you.

His hair was flat, messed up slightly. But that was your favourite look on him. The tired, barely awake, face that bared the dimples you loved more than anything.

And when he sat next to you, chin on your shoulder as you drank and adjusted to the light, the sound of his voice came slightly timid. But it wasn’t distant anymore.

“I don’t think i’m ready to open up”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to be. Just now you don’t have to lose yourself in the process. And that I’m here”

Kang Daesung : he’s so kind hearted it hurts

It started off with lingering glances. A hand on a girls shoulder, remembering his coworkers coffee orders and bringing it to them whilst forgetting you were right there.

You told yourself it was nothing. That he was just being the sweet, kind hearted Daesung you fell in love with. And he was. But he didn’t realise he was unintentionally hurting you in the process.

The way he laughed more at other girls jokes then your own and the way he seemed to hug and post them more then he ever did with you. The way he looked at them with the same look he gave you.

One day it was enough. Too much.

One of his co-hosts. Pretty. Bold. The kind of woman who didn’t seem to mind draping herself around someone else’s boyfriend like it was harmless.

Daesung laughed at something she said, hand resting lightly on her shoulder. She whispered on his ear, swatted at him playfully, too comfortable. He didn’t pull away.

You watched it all from across the room, trying not to let your heart drop.

But it did.

Again. And again.

When you found a quiet moment to speak to him outside, wind messing both of your guys’ hair up, you didn’t even know how to start.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound light. “Do you… do you think sometimes you’re a little too nice?”

He blinked. Half shocked-half confused, as if he was completely oblivious to what you were implying. And to be honest. He was.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitated. “To women. Your coworkers, I mean. I know you’re just being friendly, but sometimes it feels like…”

“Y/N,” he said with a soft smile. “Come on. You know how I am. That’s just me being me.”

You nodded, teeth sinking into your lip. “I know. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. It’s just… it’s starting to hurt a little.”

His smile didn’t waver, if anything, he chuckled. “You don’t have to be jealous. I promise, they’re not thinking like that.”

You blinked. The sting of dismissal was subtle, but sharp.

“I’m not jealous,” you said slowly, debating whether or not you were actually being jealous or unreasonable “I’m telling you how I feel.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. “Don’t overthink it. You’re my girl. You know that.”

You nodded, but something in you went quiet.

Not because you believed him. But because he wasn’t listening.

The real outburst came two nights later.

You hadn’t planned on saying anything more. But the weight of it had built and built, and when you guys came home and he was casually retelling a story about one of the girls you saw with your own eyes hugging him goodbye that night, arms around his neck, her hand in his hair and his hand around her waist tightly with a bright smile and crinkled eyes. “just being sweet” something inside you cracked.

“Do you hear yourself?” you snapped, setting down your glass a little too hard.

He looked up, startled. “What?”

“Seriously” you repeated. “Your arms were around her waist and her hand was in your hair Daesung”

He blinked, confused. “Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal. She always does that.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Exactly.”

He frowned now. As if flu were being totally unreasonable, or as kf you were accusing him of things you weren’t actually doing. “Y/N… come on. Why are you acting like this?”

You laughed, but it was hollow. “Because you don’t see it. You never do. They’re all over you, and you just smile and let it happen and pretend it’s nothing. You even play into it.”

“Because it is nothing,” he said, more defensive now. “I’m just being nice. That’s how I treat everyone.”

“No, Daesung. That’s not how you treat everyone. That’s how you treat them.”

The silence hit heavy.

You continued, voice trembling now. “And I’ve been trying to be understanding. I’ve been trying not to make it a thing. But I feel like I’m constantly competing for space in your life. Like I have to share you with women who want something more, and you won’t even acknowledge that it might be hurting me.”

He stared at you, stunned. “I… I didn’t realize it was that serious for you.”

“Of course you didn’t,” you whispered. “Because I didn’t want to sound like the insecure girlfriend who gets jealous every time another woman smiles at you.”

Your voice cracked. “But the truth is, Daesung… I am hurt. I feel invisible next to them. And every time you dismiss it, it feels like you’re choosing their comfort over my peace.”

He stepped toward you then, slowly, like something had finally clicked.

“Jagi..”

You looked down, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I didn’t want to lash out. I really didn’t. But I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t eat at me.”

A beat of silence passed.

“I’m so sorry.”

You looked up.

Daesung’s eyes were soft, wide with guilt. And something else. Awareness. The processing ticking in his brain of the way he might have actually been a bit much with other girls. He brushed off the kisses on his cheek, the intimate hugs, the showing off.

“I thought I was being harmless,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think about how it might’ve looked. I never thought it could feel like a betrayal to you. But I hear it now. I see it.”

You nodded, wiping your eye quickly. “I wasn’t asking you to stop being kind. Just… I feel like sometimes you’re closer to them than me.

He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you this time, slow, full, warm.

You didn’t resist.

He held you close, his voice low against your ear. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to compete. I would never choose them over you. I just didn’t realize I was making you question that.”

Your fingers clutched the back of his shirt. “You didn’t mean to. I know that.”

“I’ll be more careful,” he whispered. “More aware. I’ll make it clear where I stand. And I’ll never brush it off again.”

You nodded against him. “Thank you.”

His lips pressed to your temple. Gentle. Anchoring.

“I’m yours,” he said quietly. “I’ve just been too stupid to realize I wasn’t showing it right.”

You laughed, the tiniest breath of relief. “You’re not stupid Dae. Just adorably oblivious.”

“I can live with that,” he murmured. “As long as you’re still here.”

The morning didn’t start with words. It started with the smell of toast.

You woke to the sound of quiet rustling from the kitchen, the clinking of a spoon against a mug, the soft shuffle of bare feet trying not to be too loud on cold tile.

And then, unmistakably: your favorite jam being opened.

Your heart ached a little at that.

He was trying.

You stayed under the blanket for a while longer, letting the weight of last night settle back in, not painful anymore, just tender. Raw edges that hadn’t fully healed, but didn’t sting the same now that they’d been seen.

You eventually wandered out, unsure of what you’d find.

Daesung was standing by the counter in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants, back to you, carefully buttering toast like it was a sacred ritual. His shoulders were slightly hunched, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to turn around yet.

You leaned against the doorframe. “You know you’re not subtle, right?”

He jumped a little, then turned. “I was really hoping you’d sleep longer so I could finish this without getting roasted.”

A smile tugged at your lips, even if your chest still felt tight. “What exactly is this?”

He stepped aside with a proud little gesture. “An apology in carbohydrate form.”

You blinked. A plate of toast, eggs, and carefully peeled oranges. A mug with your exact milk-to-coffee ratio.

“Wow,” you murmured. “No heart-shaped pancakes?”

“I panicked halfway through. Thought it’d be too much. Maybe next time.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy, it was cautious, maybe, but not cold. Just two people trying to feel their way back to each other.

He hesitated. “I didn’t want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing.”

“You didn’t,” you said softly. “I just… i’m grateful that you actually listened and didn’t call me psycho” you lightly try and joke.

He looked down, nodding. “I was scared. Not of you, of realizing I’d actually messed up something I didn’t even see happening.”

“You didn’t mean to,” you admitted. “But it’s been building for a while.”

“I know,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “I should’ve noticed sooner. The way you looked at me sometimes, after someone got too close. I just… thought being kind was enough.”

You nodded, stepping into the kitchen. “Kindness is good. But there’s a difference between being warm to people and forgetting who you’re coming home to.”

He let that sink in. “I never want to forget that again.”

You reached for the coffee he made. He held it out without a word, watching you take a sip like he was waiting for a verdict.

“It’s perfect,” you said quietly.

He grinned, but it was sheepish. “Small wins.”

You took a seat, and he sat across from you, no jokes this time, no distractions. Just him, eyes tired but earnest.

“Do I need to make a checklist or something?” he asked after a beat. “Like… ‘no more lingering hugs,’ ‘don’t smile too long,’ ‘remember who I’m dating’?”

You snorted. “No checklists. I’m not that crazy. au don’t mind you being sweet and affectionate. It just gets a bit much as some point”

“But maybe… a little more awareness. More boundaries.”

He nodded quickly. “Boundaries. Got it. I’ll be the politest human brick wall alive.”

[monicfever]

hii, hope you are well! can u write how you imagine that would be the perfect date with dd and the punisher characters?

the perfect date 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher hc’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / muse / james wesley

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

1. THE QUIET RESTAURANT HE KNOWS BETTER THAN ANYONE. Matt takes you to a tiny, tucked-away spot in Hell’s Kitchen, family-owned, never flashy, not even listed online. He knows the owner personally, probably helped him out with legal trouble years ago. The lighting is low, almost entirely candlelit. Perfect for ambiance. But also perfect for him. You notice he’s relaxed here in a way he rarely is, shoulders down, voice softer. He asks the waiter for your order before you even open your mouth, because you’d told him earlier what you were craving, and of course he remembered.

2. THE ROOFTOP ESCAPE. After dinner, he takes you somewhere higher. It’s not a date with Matt unless it involves a fire escape or some wildly unsafe climb. But when you reach the top, it’s worth it. He’s laid out a blanket, brought your favorite drink in a thermos. There’s no plan. Just the city breathing around you, the air thick with the scent of summer and concrete, and Matt sitting close, knees touching. “I don’t need a view,” he says, turning his head toward you, “but I like hearing your heartbeat when you’re happy.” It’s quiet. Comfortable. And you know he’s listening to everything.

3. THE CHURCH AFTER HOURS. He brings you to the church, not during mass, but late. After hours. It’s dim, echoing, ancient-feeling. There’s something reverent about the way he walks between the pews, his fingertips brushing the wood like he’s grounding himself. He shows you a stained glass panel that used to terrify him as a child, and tells you why. Then he confesses, not sins, just thoughts. Fears. The mess in his head. Being with him is never easy, but here in this half-lit sanctuary, he lets you into the places he usually keeps locked. He touches your hand at the altar, not quite ready to kiss you, but the moment is full of tension and tenderness. Holy in its own way.

4. JAZZ AND WHISKEY AND A LOW CONVERSATION. A late-night bar with live jazz, Josie’s, probably, all soft brass and rasping vocals. He takes you there when he’s tired, emotionally bruised, but still trying. You’re tucked into a booth, close enough for your knees to bump. He listens more than he speaks, but when he does speak, it’s honest and low. He tells you what the music feels like to him, how the trumpet curls around his ribs like smoke. When he drinks, he does it slow, cheap whiskey, because he never liked the expensive stuff. Every date with Matt feels like he’s trying not to fall too hard, and failing anyway.

5. DOMESTIC. A perfect date might not even leave the apartment. He insists on cooking, something simple but good. Pasta with garlic and anchovies, that kind of thing. The whole apartment smells like warmth and oil and spice. He moves fluidly through the kitchen, confident, sleeves rolled, listening to the sizzle in the pan, occasionally bumping into the table and muttering under his breath. Afterward, you eat on the couch, knees up, and he leans into you while some old black-and-white movie plays in the background. He doesn’t really watch it. He listens to you breathing, to the sound of the city through the open window. He says, almost absently, “This feels...normal,” like that’s the most radical thing in the world.

6. HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE OUT. You find out halfway through that he’s injured. He’s trying to hide it, holding your hand a little too tightly, biting his lip when he moves too fast. You call him on it. He sighs, almost laughs, and admits it: yes, he shouldn’t be out, yes, he probably shouldn’t have scaled that wall to get to your place, but “it was worth it.” You help him home instead, and the date becomes you fussing over him on the couch while he finally lets himself relax under your hands. You sit next to him and he leans against you, just enough weight to show trust.

7. THE RAIN DATE. One of his favorites. Not planned at all. You’re walking together when it starts to pour, sheets of rain, drenching and cold. He doesn’t rush. He lives in the weather, lets it fall over him like it’s cleansing. You start to complain but he just laughs, his head tipped back, his face open and joyful in a way you almost never see. You stop under a ledge to dry off, but he pulls you back into it, into the rain, hands on your waist, grinning. And then he kisses you and it’s perfect.

8. THE NIGHT YOU STAY UP TALKING. Not every perfect date ends in kisses or tangled sheets. Some just end with Matt sitting on the floor next to your couch, talking. About cases, about God, about pain and justice and what it means to keep going. He says things in the dark he’d never say in daylight. You see the depth of him, how much he cares, how much he doubts. He reaches up at some point to brush your fingers with his, not asking for anything. Just... there. And when you finally fall asleep beside him, he stays awake a little longer, listening to the quiet. Just to memorize the sound of peace.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

1. THE DINER DATE. He takes you to a diner. Not because it’s romantic, because it’s safe. A place he’s scoped out a hundred times, where he knows the exits, the blind spots, which waitress has a kind smile and which one has a knife in her boot. The booths are cracked vinyl, the lights hum fluorescent and ugly. But Frank’s more relaxed here than anywhere else. He orders black coffee and fries, nothing more. He watches you eat, eyes soft in the corners. He doesn’t talk much. His comfort is in the silence, in the way he pushes the ketchup bottle toward you before you even ask, or reaches out to wipe something off your cheek with his thumb like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No music, no drama. Just the two of you in a space where, for once, no one is dying.

2. THE RANGE DATE. This is his idea of bonding. A dusty shooting range on the edge of nowhere, half-abandoned, no one around for miles. He shows you how to hold the rifle, steady your breathing, find your rhythm. He’s patient, quieter than usual, all focus and heat behind the eyes. When he touches your hands to adjust your grip it’s careful, measured, almost reverent. He watches you line up the shot, then looks at you like you’re the most dangerous and beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Afterward, you sit on the tailgate of his truck drinking lukewarm beer, sun going down, the smell of gunpowder still clinging to your clothes. He doesn’t say much, but he looks at you like you’re his, and that’s enough.

3. THE RAIN CHECK DATE. You make plans. Something simple. He agrees, says “Yeah, okay,” in that gravel voice like maybe he means it. But the day comes and he doesn’t show. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. You’re half-worried, half-pissed. Then, hours later, he’s at your door, soaked to the bone, knuckles split, blood on his shirt. “Had to take care of something,” is all he offers. But his eyes are hollow with guilt, like he knows he let you down. You don’t yell. You just nod, pull him inside, sit him down. Patch him up. The date becomes quiet care, hands in gauze and steam from a kettle, the weight of his head finally sinking onto your shoulder. “Next time,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’ll be there.” And you believe him.

4. THE NIGHT DRIVE. He picks you up without telling you where you’re going. No destination, no plan. Just asphalt and the sound of the engine under his hand. His fingers tap the wheel to some beat in his head, and he drives like he needs it, like speed is the only thing that drowns out the noise. You lean back, windows down, night air biting. He doesn’t speak for a long time, but when he does, it’s low and rough: stories about Texas highways, Afghan nights, the way New York smells different in the summer when it’s about to rain. You end up at a lookout with no name, stars half-swallowed by clouds. He lets you fall asleep in the passenger seat while he keeps watch — always.

5. THE NOT-A-DATE. He tells you outright: “This ain’t a date.” Says it like a warning, like a wall he’s trying to build in midair. You nod. You go anyway. It’s a walk through the woods outside the city, boots crunching on dirt, his eyes scanning the trees like ghosts might emerge. He keeps his distance, except when he doesn’t, reaching out to help you over a fallen log, pressing a hand to your lower back to guide you. You talk about nothing: birds, weather, how quiet it is. And when you pause to look at the sky bleeding pink over the horizon, you catch him staring, not at the sunset, at you. He doesn’t kiss you. But it’s there. In the silence. In the ache. In the way he almost says your name and stops himself.

6. THE GARAGE DATE. It smells like oil, metal, old leather. He’s fixing something, his bike, a truck, some piece of equipment you don’t recognize. You sit on a crate, watching him work. His hands are calloused and sure, black with grease, veins standing out under his skin. You hand him tools, sip a beer, maybe mess with the radio until he mutters, “Not that station.” It’s domestic in the weirdest, most Frank Castle way, like he’s letting you into the parts of his life he doesn’t even think about. He tells you what he’s doing, why that part’s important, what’ll happen if you fuck it up. And when he’s done, he wipes his hands on a rag and says, without looking at you, “You hungry?”

7. THE STAY-IN DATE. He doesn’t want to go out. Not because he’s tired, because he knows someone’s watching. He’s got that look in his eye, the one that says danger is close, too close. So you stay in. The lights stay off. He closes every curtain, double-checks every lock. Then, and only then, does he sit down beside you. You end up on the floor, backs against the wall, eating whatever leftovers you could scrape together. He keeps a gun within reach. His arm stays around you, loose but firm. His eyes scan the windows even when you’re laughing. But when you fall asleep against his chest, his head tips down and rests on yours. You don’t see it, but he smiles, just barely.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

1. THE COFFEE SHOP DATE. It’s raining outside, but not the dramatic cinematic kind, just a constant drizzle that fogs up the windows and makes the world feel small. He picks the shop because he likes the smell of it, because they make the best mochas, because the barista knows his name and asks about Matt. You sit across from each other in mismatched chairs, hands wrapped around hot mugs. Foggy’s talking — rambling, really — about a client, about a podcast he half-listened to, about the squirrel that keeps breaking into his fire escape garden. He makes you laugh in that way that bubbles out of your chest without warning. Halfway through, he reaches over and absentmindedly wipes a coffee smudge off your lip with his thumb, then freezes like oh god was that too much. It wasn’t. It was perfect.

2. THE HOMEMADE DISASTER DATE. Foggy insists on cooking. “It’s foolproof,” he says. It is not. There’s smoke, two emergency trips to the corner store, a moment where you have to Google if shrimp can explode in a microwave. But you’ve never laughed harder. He’s wearing an apron that says Kiss the Cook like a joke, except he kind of means it. When things go fully off the rails he gives up and orders Thai food. You eat it on the couch in your pajamas, surrounded by a kitchen crime scene, and he looks at you like you just walked into his life with sunshine in your pockets. “I like this,” he says. “Even the... uh, fire hazard part.” He means it. Every bit.

3. THE BACKYARD MOVIE DATE. He borrows a projector from a guy at work, drags a sheet up in his tiny backyard, and strings fairy lights with a level of effort that screams please let this work. He sets out snacks, the good kind, not movie theater garbage, but actual baked goods and your favorite drink and popcorn that’s still warm. You lie side by side on an old blanket, watching some classic he swears is a “cultural necessity.” He knows every line. Quotes them under his breath. Occasionally glances at you when he thinks you won’t notice. And when the credits roll, he doesn’t make a move, just looks at you like you’re the whole screen.

4. THE "MEET ME AFTER WORK" DATE. It starts with a text: Meet me after work? I need to see your face before I melt into legal goo. You show up outside the office and he’s already waiting with two coffees and that warm, worn-out smile that says you made it better just by showing up. He’s in his work clothes but the tie’s loosened, the sleeves are rolled, and there’s ink on his fingers from signing too many forms. He doesn’t have a big plan, just wants to walk with you, shoulders brushing, talking about nothing and everything. He keeps slipping into your space, bumping your arm with his just to feel you there.

5. THE DRUNK BAR TRIVIA DATE. Foggy’s not a heavy drinker, but he is a competitive little shit. He signs you two up for bar trivia at the local pub and it’s chaos from the start. He shouts out the answers before you're allowed to, argues with the host over music round rulings, and buys a round of drinks for the table that beats you because “they earned it... somehow.” He’s flushed and laughing, louder than usual, his arm slung around your shoulder as he tells you “We would’ve won if they hadn’t mispronounced Dostoyevsky.” You take a cab home with him leaning into your side, murmuring things like “you’re the best part of my team, you know that?” over and over.

6. THE SICK DAY DATE. You’re sick. It sucks. Foggy shows up anyway. With soup. And cold medicine. And three flavors of cough drops because he didn’t know which you’d want. He stays even when you tell him he doesn’t have to, curls up beside you on the couch, watching terrible daytime TV with surprising enthusiasm. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, murmurs “you’re burning up, sweetheart.” like he’s in a bad romance novel. He insists on fluffing your pillows. Makes you drink water. Tucks a blanket tighter around you every fifteen minutes. He kisses your temple only once, careful not to catch your flu, and says, “Don’t worry. I’ve survived Matt’s cooking. I’ll survive this.”

7. THE “I MISSED YOU” DATE. Maybe it’s been a bad week. Maybe you’ve both been pulled in too many directions. But when you finally see each other again, he holds on longer than usual. Doesn’t want to talk about the stress or the noise, just wants this. You. Him. Close. It’s a late dinner in a quiet corner of the city, somewhere low-lit and cozy. He can’t stop looking at you. He keeps reaching out, brushing your hand, your wrist, your knee under the table, like he’s checking if you’re real. “Sorry I’ve been MIA,” he says softly, voice scratchy.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

1. THE NEWSSTAND DATE. Karen loves a good ritual. Saturday morning, she meets you at the corner newsstand, coffee in hand, hair still a little messy from sleep. You browse the papers, discuss headlines, argue playfully about op-eds. She’s fired up before she even finishes her latte, gesturing with her hands, quoting sources. You don’t always agree and she loves that. She likes that you push back, that you listen. She links her arm through yours as you walk, talking about truth and justice and what people deserve to know. With Karen, conversation is intimacy.

2. THE LATE-NIGHT OFFICE DATE. She’s working late. Again. The newsroom’s empty except for the hum of machines and her voice, low over the phone. You show up with takeout and a tired smile. She lights up the moment she sees you, pulls you into a hug that says thank God you're here. You eat at her desk under flickering fluorescent lights while she vents about deadlines, ethics, and corrupt officials. She’s tired, but she still glows when she talks about the story. And you listen. That’s all she really wants, someone who sees the fire and doesn’t try to put it out.

3. THE SMALL TOWN ESCAPE DATE. You rent a car and get the hell out of the city. She picks the town, somewhere two hours north with a diner and a bookstore and a general store that sells homemade honey. She’s in jeans and sunglasses, one foot on the dashboard, singing along to old music on the radio. She smiles more when you’re not surrounded by tall buildings and ghosts. You stay at a bed and breakfast with a clawfoot tub and peeling wallpaper, and she says it feels like something out of a novel. At night, you share a milkshake in a booth lit by neon, and she says “I could stay here forever.” You know she doesn’t mean it. But she wants to.

4. THE MOVIE NIGHT DATE. Karen loves movies. Not just the good ones, all of them. Bad horror, dusty noirs, rom-coms from the '90s. She wants you to watch everything with her. You lie on the couch with her feet in your lap while she narrates trivia over the credits. Sometimes she laughs too hard. Sometimes she cries too easily. And when the movie ends, she doesn’t rush to turn the lights on. She likes the silence. The stillness. And then the moment passes, and she’s back to arguing about the plot holes.

5. THE SPAGHETTI NIGHT DATE. It’s her night to cook. You show up to a kitchen covered in flour and a playlist from 2003. She says she learned the recipe from her grandmother, but she’s guessing half the measurements. You help her stir the sauce, bumping hips, singing badly. She dances with you in the kitchen, socked feet sliding across tile. The food turns out decent but she insists it’s amazing, and you let her win. After dinner, she’s barefoot on the fire escape, wine glass in hand, talking about her childhood.

6. THE GRAVEYARD DATE. It sounds strange. It is strange. But it’s Karen’s idea. She says she likes places where people remember. You bring flowers, not for anyone you knew, just to leave. She walks with you between headstones, reading names out loud, making up stories about who they were. She tells you about people she’s lost. You don’t interrupt. You just listen. And when she takes your hand in hers, it’s with a quiet sort of gravity, like she’s saying thank you for not looking away.

7. THE GALLERY DATE. She says she doesn’t know much about art. She lies. She leads you through the museum with a soft sort of reverence, stopping at every piece that makes her feel something. She likes the sad ones. The ones that look like bruises and prayers. She says art is just a different kind of journalism, truth you feel instead of read. She stands in front of one painting longer than the others. Doesn’t speak. And you don’t press.

8. THE UNDERCOVER DATE. She pulls you into something half-legal, definitely risky. Says she needs a distraction at a charity gala where someone’s hiding something. She wears red — of course she does — and walks into the room like she owns it. She gives you a fake name to use, just for fun. You dance once, bodies close, her fingers tight around yours. Then she disappears into the crowd, chasing a lead. When it’s over, you walk home under streetlights, hearts racing, laughing like kids. She looks at you and says, “That was fun. We should break the law together more often.”

9. THE “I NEED TO GET OUT OF MY HEAD” DATE. She calls you late. Her voice sounds frayed. “I can’t sleep. Can you come over?” You do. No questions. She’s already at the door when you arrive, hair pulled back, sweater sleeves pushed up. You take a walk, nowhere in particular, just enough movement to keep the thoughts from swallowing her. She talks about guilt like it’s a second skin. You don’t try to fix it. Just walk beside her until she stops shaking. Back at her place, she lets you stay. You fall asleep with her back pressed to your chest, her breathing finally even.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

1. THE ROOFTOP TRAINING DATE. She takes you to the rooftop of some forgotten building. No pleasantries, just raw, hard training. She teaches you how to throw a punch, how to fall without breaking, how to move silently. Every movement is precise and brutal, but her eyes never leave yours. When you mess up, she corrects you sharply but with care, like a fire testing steel. Afterwards, you’re both breathing heavy, sweat dripping, and she leans in close enough for you to feel the heat of her breath. “You’re stronger than you think.”

2. THE NIGHT MARKET DATE. The city’s neon blurs around you as Elektra drags you through crowded alleyways, the pulse of the night alive beneath your feet. She knows where to find the best street food, the sharpest knives, the most elusive vendors. You try new flavors, some spicy enough to make your mouth burn, others sweet and sticky. She moves with ease through the crowd, protective and alert, occasionally slipping into a shadow when trouble brews. You catch glimpses of the woman beneath the assassin, alive, curious, fiercely loyal. She brushes a stray lock of hair from your face and smiles, just for a second.

3. THE UNDERGROUND FIGHT CLUB DATE. This is dangerous, even for her. But she wants you to see the world she inhabits, the raw, brutal edges beneath the surface. The air is thick with sweat and tension, the crowd roaring as fists fly. She watches you watch, analyzing every flinch, every tight breath. When the fight ends, she pulls you close, blood on her knuckles and a wild fire in her eyes. “Not bad.”

4. THE MIDNIGHT SWIM DATE. You meet at the edge of a dark river, the moon casting silver across the water. Elektra strips down without hesitation, stepping into the cold like it’s nothing. You follow, shivering, but she’s steady. She swims with powerful strokes, pulling you into the water with a laugh that’s more rare than you thought. Floating on your backs, she points out constellations, voice soft in the night air. There’s no fight, no tension, just the two of you.

5. THE SECRET LIBRARY DATE. She leads you to a hidden library, one filled with ancient texts and dusty scrolls. Elektra isn’t usually one for quiet moments, but here she’s different, patient, almost tender. She pulls books from the shelves, reading aloud passages that resonate with her, stories of warriors, love, betrayal. You sit close, her hand finding yours between the pages, fingers intertwining. She doesn’t say much, but the silence hums with meaning. You realize this is her sanctuary and she’s sharing it with you.

6. THE FIRE ESCAPE ESCAPADE DATE. Spontaneous and reckless, she drags you onto a fire escape under the cover of night. You climb higher than you thought possible, hearts pounding, not just from the climb but from the thrill. At the top the city sprawls beneath you, a chaotic tapestry of lights and sounds. She pulls you close, the danger sharpening every sense.

7. THE RAIN-DRAPED ALLEY DATE. Caught in a sudden downpour, Elektra doesn’t run for cover. Instead she pulls you into a narrow alley, the rain dripping from her hair and skin. She laughs, dark, wild, free, and kisses you hard, rain mixing with the sharpness of the moment. The city blurs around you, thunder rolling distant and low. She’s alive here, unrestrained, the storm matching the tempest inside her.

8. THE KITCHEN DATE. It’s rare. She cooks. Simple things, strong coffee, thick toast, something spicy. The kitchen smells like smoke and pepper. She’s silent mostly, but the way she looks at you while you eat says more than words could.

9. THE ABANDONED WAREHOUSE DATE. She takes you somewhere no one goes. Broken windows, cracked floors, shadows that cling to the walls. It’s eerie, but she moves with purpose, like this place holds secrets only she can read. You talk in whispers, stories unfolding between the dust and decay. When she brushes your hair from your face, it’s a moment of fragile tenderness amid the ruin.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

1. THE EXACTLY-7:30 DINER DATE. Dex picks you up at 7:15. Not 7:20. Not 7:10. 7:15. He’s already anxious if you’re even slightly late, not because he’s mad, but because he’s wired like a bomb. He takes you to a quiet corner booth in the same old diner he’s been going to since before you met him. Same seat, same waitress, same patty melt and root beer. He’s trying to give you something “normal,” something safe. He’s deeply attentive, a little too still, always watching your face for approval. He doesn’t talk much unless you ask questions, and then he gets so excited to tell you about work or a podcast he’s listening to. He pays in exact change.

2. THE BOWLING DATE (ON A TUESDAY, WHEN IT’S QUIET). He suggests bowling like it’s a joke — “You ever seen me throw a strike?” But it’s not a joke. It’s controlled chaos. He takes you to a run-down alley on a weeknight when it’s mostly empty, just the sound of pins crashing and neon buzzing. He’s ridiculously good (of course), and sometimes people watch. He hates that. He relaxes more when it’s just the two of you. He lets you win once, but only once. He shows you how to line up your throw with intense focus, hands on your waist or shoulders, breath close to your ear. His eyes soften when you laugh. He doesn’t say much but he doesn’t want the night to end.

3. THE BASEBALL GAME DATE. Not a Yankees game. He’s not taking you into that chaos. It’s a minor league game an hour outside the city. Cheap seats, bad nachos, kids running up and down the bleachers. He brings you there because it reminds him of the only time he ever felt okay as a kid. He’s quieter here, calm in a way that makes you want to protect him. He doesn’t hold your hand until the seventh inning, and when he does, he doesn’t let go. He drives you home after and doesn’t kiss you. Just looks at you like he wants to, but doesn’t trust himself.

4. THE ICE SKATING DATE. Indoor rink. Early morning. Practically empty. He tells you he’s bad at it but he’s lying, he’s precise and graceful in a way that feels almost too perfect. He doesn’t go fast. Doesn’t show off. He circles back around you over and over, eyes locked on yours, smiling in that too-wide, too-sharp way. When you slip, he catches you before you hit the ground. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the session. Later, in the parking lot, he gives you his jacket even though he’s shaking from the cold.

5. THE MOVIE THEATER DATE (ONE THEATER, ONE SCREEN, BACK ROW). He doesn’t like crowds. He doesn’t like noise he can’t control. So he finds a weird little one-screen theater, maybe in Brooklyn, maybe Queens, that plays old films. No big blockbusters. Something quiet. Maybe The Conversation or Zodiac or Double Indemnity. He buys your ticket in advance. You sit in the very back row, far from anyone else. He doesn’t watch the movie as much as he watches you watching it. Afterward, he talks about the sound design and cinematography like he’s been rehearsing it in his head for days.

6. THE “STAY INSIDE AND PLAN EVERYTHING” DATE. You don’t go anywhere. That’s the point. You stay at his place — which is clean, sparse, sterile — and he’s made an itinerary. Literal bullet points. He’s scheduled food, movies, maybe board games. Every part of it screams “please don’t leave me for the chaos in my head.” He’s thought about what snacks you’d like, what blanket to have on hand, what movie you once said you liked in passing. You tease him gently, and he grins, but his hands still shake when you touch them. He’s not doing it for control. He’s doing it because he wants to do it right.

7. THE LATE-NIGHT WALK DATE (WHEN THE CITY IS QUIET ENOUGH). He doesn’t sleep. Not really. So when he texts you at 1:14 AM — “You up?” — and you say yes, he shows up fifteen minutes later with two cups of vending machine coffee. You walk through the quieter parts of the city: the waterfront, the cemetery, the industrial neighborhoods where even the rats are asleep. He opens up more when the world is quiet, tells you things he shouldn’t, things you didn’t want to know, and then goes quiet like he’s ashamed. He sits next to you on a loading dock and says, “I don’t know why you’re still here.” but he doesn’t ask you to leave.

8. THE MUSEUM DATE (OFF-HOURS, PRIVATE TOUR). He somehow arranges a private tour at a museum — maybe he knows a guy, or maybe he just made it happen in a way you don’t want to ask about. It’s late. The lights are low. The whole building is yours. He shows you exhibits he already knows by heart. There’s something reverent about the way he moves through the space, like he’s in a church. He doesn’t touch anything. Doesn’t speak loudly. Just watches you take it all in, like you’re the art.

9. THE GUN RANGE DATE. He asks if you’ve ever shot a gun. You say no. He says, “Wanna try?” The gun range is quiet. Clinical. Controlled. He’s respectful. Painfully careful. He teaches you how to hold the weapon, how to breathe, how to listen. He corrects your stance without touching you unless you say it’s okay. You can tell it matters to him that you feel safe, that he doesn’t scare you. He doesn’t smile much during this date. But afterward, he says, “You were amazing.” And he means it.

10. THE “I DON’T WANT TO SCARE YOU” DATE. There’s no real plan. He just shows up at your door with his hat in his hands, eyes flicking nervously from your face to the floor. “We could just... hang out? If that’s okay?” You watch a show. You eat something simple. He talks a little too fast, like he’s rehearsing what a person should say. And every so often, he stops mid-sentence, panicked, like he’s afraid he’s ruining it. But you tell him he’s not. You tell him it’s enough. You touch his shoulder and he flinches, not from fear, but from how gentle it is. You stay up with him until morning. He lets you.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

1. THE HIGH-END BAR DATE. Billy doesn’t take you to just any place for drinks, it’s a rooftop lounge, sleek and dimly lit, tucked into some hotel only people with business cards know about. He dresses sharp. You do too. He orders for you but asks first, always, and tips like a man with something to prove. Everyone notices him. He notices you. And when you talk, he actually listens. He smiles a lot, but it never quite reaches his eyes until you surprise him, a joke, a memory, something real. That’s when the mask slips, just a little.

2. THE HOTEL ROOM ROOM SERVICE DATE. He books a fancy room. For the view, he says. For the privacy, he means. He’s wearing a robe. You’re wearing his T-shirt. Room service comes in silver trays, overpriced wine in a cooler, everything tailored to your taste because he asked, weeks ago, subtly. You eat in bed. Watch something trashy. He teases you for it but he’s into it too. And when things slow down, when your head’s on his chest, and the city glows through the window, he goes quiet. He doesn’t fall asleep. He stays still, like he doesn’t want to miss this.

3. THE ART GALLERY DATE. Billy doesn’t pretend to be deep, not anymore, but he wants to be around things that are. He takes you to a small gallery opening in some converted warehouse space. Wine in paper cups, artists in black, but he’s oddly comfortable here. He stands behind you while you look at the pieces, hands in his pockets, watching you more than the art. He asks what you see in them. What you feel. When you turn the question back on him, he shrugs, grins — “I see you liking it. That’s enough for me.”

4. THE EARLY MORNING COFFEE DATE. Surprisingly domestic. He’s half-asleep, hoodie and joggers, stubble rough. He meets you at that one corner café with bad music and perfect lattes. You sit outside. He reads the paper. You talk about nonsense. He’s quiet here, less performative, like the armor’s not all the way up yet. When he laughs, it’s real. When he reaches for your hand, it’s not a move. It’s instinct. People pass and glance, and he lets them. He likes being seen with you.

5. THE PRIVATE CLUB DATE. This is when he’s showing off — not for you, but for himself. Some exclusive spot where the host knows his name. He wears cologne sharp enough to sting. He orders the steak rare and the wine expensive. You get the sense this is what he thinks he has to do to keep you. But somewhere between the dessert and the whiskey, he leans in and says something too honest, about his mother, or nightmares, or how quiet it gets at 3 AM. He’ll brush it off right after. But you won’t forget it.

6. THE GYM DATE. You don’t mean to call it a date. But he invites you to train with him — private gym, empty, padded floor. He teaches you to hit pads, how to breathe through a punch, how to move your feet. He’s intense, hyper-focused, eyes tracking everything. You land one solid hit on him and he grins, breathless. “Damn, alright.” he says, and you’ve never seen him look prouder. Afterward, you sit on the mat drinking water, sweat-slick and flushed, and he watches you like he’s never seen you before. Like you could break him if you wanted.

7. THE “I FUCKED UP” DATE. He shows up at your door late. Doesn’t say much. Just looks at you with that tight jaw, that I-ruined-something stare. You let him in. He doesn’t talk for a while. When he does, it’s careful. Too careful. “I don’t want to lie to you.” And he doesn’t. But he doesn’t tell you everything either. He takes you somewhere quiet, a dark little bar or a 24-hour diner, and he tries. Not to impress you. Just to be real.

8. THE CHINATOWN NOODLE SHOP DATE. One of his comfort spots. Loud, cramped, cash only, fluorescent lights and the best dumplings in the city. You sit side by side in a narrow booth, brushing knees under the table. He orders for both of you, fast and fluent. This is a rare look at him relaxed, mouth full, sleeves rolled up, joking about the old lady at the next table who yelled at him once. He eats like he grew up hungry. He glances at you between bites like he’s checking if you still like him. You do. And he knows it.

9. THE “JUST STAY WITH ME” DATE. There’s no plan. Just his penthouse, expensive, sterile, too clean. You bring over takeout. He makes a show of complaining about the movie you picked, but halfway through, his arm’s around you, his chin on your shoulder. His voice is low. His touch is soft. And when the movie ends and the room goes dark, he doesn’t reach for anything else. He just stays there, pressed against you like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “You don’t have to go.” he says, like he expects you to. You stay. He sleeps for once. Really sleeps.

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

1. THE AFTER-WORK BAR DATE (WITH HER GUN STILL ON HER). You meet her at some hole-in-the-wall place, dim lighting, real whiskey, no music loud enough to drown out thinking. She’s already seated when you arrive, sipping something straight, jacket still on. Her shoulder holster is visible for half a second when she shrugs it off. This isn’t romance. It’s decompression. She vents about the bullshit at work, about the way people don’t listen, and you listen. That’s the date. Just you, her, the world pulled down to one booth.

2. THE "JUST GET IN" DRIVE DATE. She texts you: “Come outside.” You do, and she’s already in the car, engine running, hair up, something old playing through the speakers, maybe Fleetwood Mac, maybe Nirvana. She doesn’t say where you’re going. You drive over the bridge, lights cutting across her face, city fading behind you. Eventually you stop at some nothing-town gas station, sit on the hood, drink bottled tea, and talk. Not about work. Not about trauma. Just about old music, books, and what the stars looked like in Kandahar. She tells you something small, something true. She doesn’t want to go home yet. Neither do you.

3. THE MIDDLE-OF-THE-DAY MUSEUM DATE. She takes her lunch break late. Asks if you’re free. You meet at a museum, nothing flashy, maybe the Tenement Museum or the New-York Historical Society. She walks slowly, eyes scanning everything. She reads the plaques. She likes context. She leans in close to tell you things she remembers from her old studies, quotes, statistics, political history. She's sharp, not performative, and when she catches you looking at her instead of the exhibit, she says, “What?” but she’s smiling.

4. THE PERSIAN CAFE DATE. There’s a place she goes that no one at work knows about. Persian food, warm spices, real bread, people who know her order. She takes you there on a Sunday evening when she finally breathes again. She teaches you how to pronounce things right, tells you about her mother’s cooking. She doesn’t talk about Iran often, but here, in the soft light and scent of saffron, she lets herself remember. She eats slowly, laughs quietly, watches you like she’s trying to decide if she can trust how easy this feels.

5. THE “YOU'RE COMING TO THE GYM” DATE. You didn’t plan it. She texts “I’m already here. You coming?” It’s a gritty, old-school boxing gym where everyone knows her name. She wraps your hands. Shows you footwork. She doesn’t go easy on you. She likes that you keep up. The trainer says she’s never brought someone in before. Afterward, you both sit on the bench, dripping sweat, silent for a while.

6. THE TARGET RANGE DATE. She doesn’t ask. She just hands you ear protection and says, “Let’s go.” She keeps it professional at first, posture perfect, grouping tight. But when she sees your hands shake a little, she steps behind you, presses her hand to your back, and says “You’re alright. Just breathe.” That’s the real date: her teaching you calm, control, how to stand steady in the noise. Later, she lets you drive. Keeps her hand on your knee the whole way home.

7. THE “I NEED TO BE OUT OF THE CITY” DATE. She’s not in a good place. She doesn’t say that. She just picks you up and drives north. Into the woods. A lake. A state park. She parks the car and says “Walk with me.” She doesn't talk much until you’re a few miles in, the silence softening her shoulders. She finally exhales. Tells you about the nightmares, the guilt, the job she hates and won’t quit. She throws rocks into the water, jaw tight. You don’t try to fix it. That’s why she brought you. You just walk back beside her, and this time, she takes your hand.

8. THE LAUNDRY NIGHT DATE. Late night. You meet at the 24-hour laundromat near her apartment. She hands you a basket without comment. It’s quiet. Fluorescent. Smells like detergent. You fold shirts while she vents about her idiot boss and the paperwork she wants to set on fire. She lets her hair down, finally, and throws a sock at your face. It's the calmest you’ve ever seen her. At the vending machine, she buys you a bag of M&Ms. Says, “Thanks for being here,” in a voice that makes you forget the night is ordinary.

9. THE FILES-AND-WINE NIGHT DATE. She’s working late. You bring wine. She doesn’t stop working. Not at first. But she lets you read over the files with her, explain what she's tracking. She trusts you enough to let you in, into the mess, the obsession, the dangerous details. At some point she kicks her shoes off and leans back against you on the couch, wine glass in one hand, red ink on her other. “This isn’t exactly romantic.” she mutters. But she doesn’t stop leaning on you. She lets herself fall asleep there. That’s the part she won’t admit means everything.

⏜︵ MUSE. 𐂯

1. THE STOLEN GALLERY NIGHT. He blindfolds you. That’s part of it. Says he wants your “first impression” to be pure. When he takes it off you’re standing in an abandoned building, paint and blood and canvas smeared across the walls like a murder scene curated for aesthetic. It’s quiet. He calls it his “private exhibit.” You don’t recognize the medium. You don’t ask. He waits, head tilted, to see what emotion crosses your face first. Fear? Disgust? Awe? That’s the whole date. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t speak much. Just watches you walk through what he made, and decides whether or not he likes how you respond.

2. THE DINNER HE COOKS HIMSELF (BADLY). He shows up at your place. Somehow knows where you live. He says, “Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned. That’d be boring.” He cooks you something and it’s almost childish in its sincerity. Overcooked steak. Under-seasoned vegetables. But he tries. He watches you eat like it’s an experiment. He doesn’t sit. He crouches in a chair like a predator too restless to settle.

3. THE “DO YOU WANT TO SEE IT?” DATE. It’s raining. You’re in his car, some beat-up, anonymous thing with no radio. He drives for hours. Never says where. Finally, you stop in front of a warehouse by the docks. Inside: a tarp. A body under it. Not fresh, but not old either. His voice is soft. Childlike. “I wanted you to see it before the world does. Before I finish it.” He waits for your reaction like a child showing a drawing to a parent. Not for forgiveness. Not for horror. Just… approval. Or not. Either way, you leave different than you came in.

4. THE ROOFTOP SURVEILLANCE DATE. He brings you to a rooftop. There’s no blanket, no wine, no pretense. Just binoculars, police scanners, and an angle on Hell’s Kitchen that sees everything. “This is where I study them,” he says. “Before I decide what they are.” You sit in silence for over an hour. No touching. No conversation. Just him pointing out people. Murmuring what he thinks they are: “That one cheats on his wife. That one embezzles. That one kicks her dog.” You don’t know how he knows. You don’t ask. When you leave, he looks disappointed. “You didn’t ask for anyone’s name.”

5. THE ABANDONED CHURCH DATE. He thinks he’s funny when he calls it “romantic.” The pews are broken. Candles half-melted. A blood-streaked mural covers the altar wall made from oil paint and something thicker. He says he likes the stillness in places like this. “God doesn’t live here anymore. But I do.” He asks you if you ever lied to a priest. If you ever really confessed. He doesn’t touch you, but he invades space without needing to. He stands so close you feel his breath, but never his hands. It’s not intimacy. It’s invasion disguised as worship.

6. THE “MAKE SOMETHING WITH ME” DATE. He lays out supplies in front of you: paints, scrap wood, photographs, razors. “Let’s make something together.” he says, far too gently. You think it’s art. At first. But there are instructions. Rules. Things you can’t do. Things you have to do. He wants your hands dirty. Wants to see how far you’ll go. You don’t know if it’s a real piece or a test.

7. THE QUIET NIGHT IN (WITH THE TV STATIC). You’re in his place. Sparse. Windowless. You sit together on the couch. The TV is on, but it’s static. He says it helps him think. He asks you strange questions: “What’s your earliest memory of cruelty?” “Do you ever feel beautiful when you’re bleeding?” “Would you save a stranger if no one ever knew?” You’re not sure if it’s a conversation or an interrogation. But you answer. Because you want him to see you as something worth keeping.

8. THE “LOOK AT ME” DATE. No movement. No sound. Just the two of you sitting in a locked room, no phones, no distractions. He tells you to look at him. For one hour. Just look. “It’s a study,” he says. “Not of me. Of you.” Your eyes burn. You flinch. You try to speak, he raises one finger. No. When the hour ends, he finally exhales. Says, softly, “People always show you what they are if you look long enough.” You don’t know what he saw in you. But he smiles on the way out.

9. THE HOSPITAL DATE. Not your hospital. Not his. Just a hospital. He takes you to the trauma wing, says he wants to show you where the world bleeds. You sit in the waiting room together, silently watching people come and go, broken arms, crying children, gurneys and blood-slicked sheets. He points at people and says, “Art. Art. Not art. Waste.” You don’t speak. You don’t stop him. He watches your reactions more than he watches the people. You realize you’re the exhibit. You always were.

⏜︵ JAMES WESLEY. 𐂯

1. THE RESERVATION-NOBODY-ELSE-COULD-GET DATE. It’s not a loud place. It’s not on TikTok. There are no influencers here. Just real food, flawless lighting, and waiters who already know your name when you walk in. Wesley opens every door for you. He orders something elegant, but not flashy. He watches you across the table, totally present. When he touches your hand, it’s deliberate, thumb brushing your knuckles, grounding you both in that moment. He never talks too much, but he always listens. And if anyone bothers you? He doesn’t make a scene. He makes a call. You never see that person again.

2. THE OPERA DATE (YES, REALLY). He has box seats. Of course he does. He doesn’t go often, but when he does, it’s always for someone else. He brings you because he wants you to experience it, the elegance, the gravitas, the control of a story told through discipline and volume. You dress up. He looks devastating in a dark suit. During the performance, he barely moves. He knows every cue. Afterward you talk about it in low tones over a neat drink, and when you say something insightful about the second aria, he smiles with quiet pride. He doesn’t say “I love you.” He says “That’s why I brought you.”

3. THE LATE-NIGHT WALK WITH A DRIVER 30 FEET BACK. He doesn’t like chaos. But he likes walking with you. Only after dark, only when the city’s quiet and his security team has already cleared the area. There’s a black car idling half a block back. He pretends not to notice it, because this is his version of vulnerability. He walks close to you, always on the side facing the street, always watching the windows above. Once in a while, he’ll pause and say something completely sincere, like “You have an extraordinary way of noticing things.” You don’t know what he means by that. But it matters.

4. THE “I CLEARED MY SCHEDULE FOR THIS” DATE. It’s 3:00 PM on a weekday. He never takes time off. Ever. But today, he sends a car to pick you up and meet him at an art gallery, small, quiet, completely empty. He booked it out. Just for you. You walk the space alone. He doesn’t pretend to know art. He just watches you respond to it. You talk. You teach him things. He smiles more than usual, eyes sharp, body calm. And when you get to the final piece, he says, “I knew you’d like this one.” Because he already walked the entire exhibit yesterday to make sure.

5. THE WESLEY-COOKS DINNER DATE. Yes. He can cook. He’s not flashy about it. Just careful. Exact. Everything timed perfectly, risotto stirred like a ritual, steak seared with the same focus he uses to arrange hits. The kitchen is spotless. He hands you a glass of wine while you sit at the counter and watch him work. Dinner is candlelit not because he’s trying to be romantic but because he knows soft lighting makes you feel safer. Afterward he cleans up while you’re still finishing dessert. There’s jazz playing.

6. THE LIBRARY DATE. He tells you to meet him in a library. Not a big one — a private, old, dusty place with windows that catch the light just right. You sit across from each other at a long table, reading separate things, occasionally sharing lines that make you smile. He reads slowly. He likes holding the spine of a book in his hands, something about the weight of it, the control. He likes watching your face when you get to a good part. He doesn’t interrupt.

7. THE CLASSIC MOVIE THEATER DATE. He finds a theater that plays black-and-white films, original reels, organ music before the opening credits. You get popcorn in a red-and-white striped bag. The seats creak when you sit down. He’s watched this film a hundred times, probably. But he watches you watching it. When you whisper something about the scene — a little detail, a line of dialogue — he turns to you, and says, “Exactly.” He walks you home after. Doesn’t try anything. Just walks beside you in the cold, hands in his pockets, the streetlight throwing his shadow long behind him.

8. THE “EVERYTHING IS ALREADY HANDLED” DATE. You mention offhand that you’ve been stressed lately. Too much on your plate. Too many little things slipping. You don’t even ask for help. But the next weekend, he picks you up and drives you to a small house outside the city, someone’s guest home, fully stocked, fridge filled, phone off. You ask how he arranged it. He just says, “I thought you’d like some silence.” You spend the day reading, walking the grounds, sitting near the fireplace. It’s the kind of calm that feels orchestrated. Because it was. Because he saw what you needed before you knew you needed it.

9. THE CLEANED-UP-DISASTER DATE. You’re having a bad night. You call him. That’s the entire date. He shows up at your door in under fifteen minutes. Says nothing at first, just lets you talk. Or cry. Or sit in silence. Then he asks if you’ve eaten. You haven’t. So he orders something simple. No questions, no judgments. You fall asleep on the couch. When you wake up, the food’s been put away, the lights are off, and he’s still there. Reading quietly in a chair near the window. He doesn’t sleep. Not when you might need him.

10. THE “NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT THIS” DATE. It’s a bar with no sign. No windows. The owner recognizes him and waves you both in. There’s jazz playing on vinyl. Maybe five people inside, tops. He takes you to the corner booth. No one watches you here. He’s different tonight. Looser. Warmer. He lets his fingers linger on yours when he sets his drink down. He tells you stories that never make it into case files. Things about his childhood. About loyalty. About what people really are when you take the masks off. He never talks this way to anyone else. You know that. And he knows you’ll never tell.

started 5.20.2025. finished 7.15.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[bueckersbitxh]

she says im 'so american' Ch 3

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chapter master list

pairing: uconn!paige x british OC

summary: As classes start, Paige is Rowan’s own personal ipad kid nightmare, sent by the heavens as a punishment. Rowan finds a groove, school, friends, and familiarity. But Paige is somehow at the center of all of it. one thing leads to another and a drunken confession makes its way into the light. But things are never that simple.

warning: wonderful banter, cursing, suggestive language, alcohol usage, paige being down bad as fuck, rowan being a paige x rowan denier, and me being a dyslexic (sorry).

a/n: this chapter was so fun to write, i’ve already created the entire story line for this fic and this is only the beginning.

———————————————————————————————

The first day of classes snuck up on me like a monster in a haunted house. Being in my senior year isn't too frightening, except I've never studied in the States before, and I'm really not sure what to expect.

However, Uconns campus was a great distraction. As I made my way toward the Austin building for my American Lit class, I couldn't stop glancing around at all the buildings as I walked. The air here was warm but not suffocating, huge oak trees lined the walk the whole way there. Cobblestone pathways lead in different directions to each building, and students rushed all around me. I laughed to myself as I saw a couple of different people wearing Paige's jersey number on their shirts. Campus royalty at its highest.

As I made my way into the building and up the stairs to my class, I entered an auditorium-like classroom, roughly seventy students had already arrived and sat in different seats. I chose the right back corner of the room and climbed the steps to sit down in a row with an open seat on each side of me.

I wasn’t too worried about this class. I’ve read plenty of American lit on my own—and took a few courses back in England. I pulled out my laptop and opened a blank doc. Then a loud thump made me jump. I glanced down to see a black basketball bag dumped at my feet.

Oh, please no.

“What’s up, London?” Paige’s overly chipper voice filled the space as she plopped down beside me. I turned slowly. My face must’ve screamed not again because her grin only got wider.

What did I do in a past life to deserve this? Must’ve been a puppy-murdering Hotspur fan.

“Paige,” I sighed, turning back to my screen. Her blonde hair was loose in waves, casual sweats, and those ridiculous lavender glasses perched on her nose.

“Funny you’re in this class too, huh?”

“Not really,” I said, glancing sideways. “Considering it’s my major.”

She smirked. “You, on the other hand? Yeah, funny you’re stuck here with me.”

Paige bit her cheek, totally unbothered by the jab. “You’re an English major?”

I hummed, leaning back. She grinned. “Perfect then. I suck at English. Still haven’t passed this class—and I’m in my fifth year.”

She said it like a badge of honor. I raised an eyebrow.

“Fifth year?”

“Redshirt senior,” she explained, eyes rolling. “That’s athlete code for staying an extra year after an injury. Missed my whole junior season. Gotta play again.”

I did the math. She’s gotta be twenty-two. That means Briar’s my age—one year younger than Paige.

The professor started talking, and the room quieted down. I sat up straight, focused. I could feel Paige’s eyes on me—definitely not on the lecture. I made a mental note: that’s probably why she keeps failing.

Then the words I dreaded: semester-long partner project.

I tensed. Paige leaned closer, whispering, “So, you wanna hear why you’re gonna be my partner, or just accept your fate now?”

I groaned, dropping my head onto my chest. She laughed softly and muttered, “Thought so.”

Fuck my life.

-------

Paige and I were in the library now, all we needed to do was create an outline for the project together. Just set up a timeline and plot out when we will tackle each section of the presentation. It sounds so easy. And it would be easy if my partner weren't Paige, an ADHD nightmare who's also an iPad kid.

"You're such an ipad kid." I remarked looking at her side ways as she sat across from me. she scoffed glancing up at me.

"Bro, im a scholar using modern day tools to achieve academic success," she replied, offendedly.

"You're coloring a digital sticker book." I deadpanned.

"Its not a sticker book, it is a productivity reward app."

"You never even did anything productive"

"I made a heading for the outline"

"You wrote down 'stuff we should say" I said exasperatedly, dropping my elbows on the table.

"Uh yea...and what goes in a outline?" She asked, leaning forward across the table with raised eyebrows, "Stuff we should say, in the presentation," she replied before sitting back with a big grin.

I stared at her unimpressed, glancing between her and her purple ipad, the way she grasped both ends of it tightly even though it was already propped up with the case.

"You were one of those children who watched YouTube on full volume inside restaurants, weren't you." I squinted. She grinned.

"With my fries and a little cup of ketchup"

"Do you need me to cut up apple slices for you too?"

"Only if you do it with that sexy little accent."

I bit the inside of my mouth to stop my smile, "Unbelievable," I muttered rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, you like it though," Paige finished, before finally reopening the document on her iPad.

A quiet settled over us, finally, as she started typing on her end while I created a calendar for the project. Every now and then, she would move her leg under the table, her shin would brush my calf, or she'd start to bounce her foot while she worked, inadvertently bumping me in the process. I never flinched, just quietly nudged her back under the table. Sometimes she would lean forward and peek over my computer screen to see how much I had gotten done.

"Are you seriously competing with me right now to see who finishes faster."

"One, thats what she said, and two, yes." Paige grinned at her joke while nodding her head once.

"Such an athlete," I scoffed, looking back down at my laptop so she wouldn't see my smile. She saw it anyway.

It surprised me how easily we fell into a teasing groove with each other, like that first night between us never happened. Except for when I start to remember it very well did happen.

I glanced up at Paige then, her eyebrows were drawn together as she focused on what she was doing. She had MY pencil drawn between her teeth, the pencil she snatched from my side of the table, regardless of the fact that she didn't need it. I tried to focus, glancing back down at my laptop, but my eyes moved without my permission. I looked up again, eyes zeroing in on her mouth and the way the pencil rested between her lips.

"You're staring" Paige muttered without looking up at me.

I jumped softly, looking down immediately, "I'm not staring, I'm zoning out....you just happen to be in my way."

Paige grinned, dropping the pencil from her teeth, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, sparks".

I huffed, leaning back in my chair some more and refocusing on the document. This project was going to be an absolute failure, that's for sure.

--------

The next few days slipped by without too much drama. Classes went okay, and I finally found my rhythm—me, my notes, and an impressive caffeine intake.

But Paige? She was like a human mosquito buzzing around my focus.

During lectures, she’d elbow me at the exact moment the professor dropped some complicated theory—like she knew I needed distracting.

She muttered sarcastic comments loud enough for me to hear but too quiet to get caught, usually about how “thrilling” early American poetry is.

"If this poem had a heartbeat, it'd be flatlining." She deadpanned one day.

I choked on the coffee I was drinking.

Having Paige in my class was annoying and exhausting. But also charming and infuriatingly cute.

------------

By the time the third week of classes rolled around, I was head over heels with my life in America. Briar and I continued to bond, eating dinner together almost every night, sometimes joined by kk and ice (and maybe Paige), she took me shopping on the weekends, claiming I needed to experience the 'American mall'. Which I will say, the soft pretzels they sell are otherworldly.

All in all, everything was going well; the pain and sorrow I’d brought with me from England had begun to dissolve, as if softened by distance. I spoke to my mum at least twice a week, keeping her updated on my American adventures (her words, not mine).

But still, something tugged at the back of my mind like a constant shadow, or should I say someone. Paige was everywhere, all the time. And by everywhere, I do mean everywhere. If she wasn't beside me in class, she was with me in the library, if she wasn't there, she was in my apartment with the team, and when I was finally alone, her freaking face was plastered on posters around campus.

Flashbacks of that night with Paige hit me like tidal waves—unexpected and relentless. They came in shards: a stolen glance across a crowded room, the ghost of a touch lingering on my skin, the sudden rush of a feeling I tried to bury deep. Sometimes they arrived in dreams, vivid and raw, pulling me back to moments I thought I’d locked away. No matter how hard I tried, those memories refused to stay quiet, crashing through the calm I fought to keep.

I told myself it didn't matter, it was just a physical attraction. Anyone would be attracted to paige, she's funny, driven, beautiful inside and out, it was normal. On top of that, the chemistry we had together that night was intense; of course, I thought about it. Again, totally normal.

The mantra that it was normal is what i needed to keep repeating in my mind if I was going to survive my current situation; Game Night.

Wanna know the most entertaining and stressful thing you could ever do? Ask a friend group full of competitive basketball players to play Uno, the drinking version, on a Saturday night.

Pure Fucking Chaos.

Paige was hosting game night at her and Janas' apartment, the whole gang was here, including some new players I had recently met, Azzi, Kaitlyn, Sarah and Aubrey.

We were all in their living room, sitting around the coffee table as Kk dealt out cards. I was sitting between Aubrey and Paige on the couch. Once we all had our cards, the game moved fast, cards were slammed down on the table with much more force than necessary, and emotional betrayal was handed out in the form of plus-four cards. Insults and exasperated lies were shouted out repetitively, as the rules were that every time you draw a card, you take a drink.

"Skip my turn? thats COLD bro, COLD." Paige yelled.

"Im gonna flip this fucking table." Ice.

"UNO and don't forget it," KK.

"Whoever invented this game obviously hates fun" Azzi.

"Nah, bro, you're CHEATING, stop looking at my cards," Jana.

When it got to my turn everyone 'oohed' as Aubrey laid down a draw four card before me. I smirked to myself preparing for chaos as I played my next card.

"Stacked," I said calmly, as I laid down a draw four card to match Aubrey's.

Paige was next, now with a draw eight against her.

A beat of silence—and then chaos. Screaming. Groaning. Someone fake-fainted onto the carpet.

“Eight cards?! Rowan, you’re a menace!” “Friendship ended. Right here.” “We’re not recovering from this!”

In the middle of the uproar, Paige leaned in close, her voice low and razor sharp—meant for no one else but me.

"This is what I get in return for making you cum five times in a row, huh?".

I coughed loudly as Paige smirked around the rim of her cup, chugging the entire thing down instead of taking eight sips. I blushed scarlet as I looked down, praying no one in the room noticed and then thanking the heavens Briar couldn't be here tonight due to work.

That was the first time Paige had acknowledged our hook-up since the day I moved in. I took a large gulp of my drink.

"Damn Rowan that was cold as hell" Aubrey said from beside me, talking about the card game. I shrugged my shoulders innocently.

"I don't do losing."

"Did you play sports in school perchance?" Azzi asked softly from across the table, her words slightly blurred together from alcohol.

"Soccer" I nodded, finally catching on to the American word for it. Sick of everyone always thinking I mean American football when I say it the Brit way.

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense," Kk nodded enthusiastically from her spot.

"Oh my god, you're right," Azzi said, "You scream 'midfield aggression". She said, putting her hands in the air to emphasize the words. I let out a loud laugh at that, mainly because it didnt make any sense.

"Oh please, she does not scream 'aggressive' anything," Paige scoffed, leaning back.

I whipped around to face her, "Excuse you," I said, offended. She grinned widely.

"Sweetheart, nothing you say in that little accent sounds dominant in any way."

Across the table, quiet and indiscreetly, Kk's eyes widened as she glanced sideways at Sarah, "She's flirting," Kk mouthed. Sarah snorted. "You're just now noticing?"

I opened my mouth, the retort right on the tip of my tongue, 'Oh yeah? That's not what you said when I topped you.' Paige was looking at me like she was daring me to say it, like she could read my mind right now.

I stopped myself remembering we had an audience, "Yea Bueckers? well nothing you do on the court screams 'point guard', it mostly screams cardio with commitment issues."

Laughs exploded from everyone.

"Damn P she clocked your ass"

"No way you're gonna sit there and just take that."

Page's mouth fell slack as she looked at me, but even slack-jawed she couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from turning up. Her eyes were glossy from the alcohol, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked unreal.

"Well damn, who knew that accent came with a bite" She leaned forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. Her arm brushed against mine with the movement.

The game night continued on with that same fire, and I sat beside Paige, trying to ignore the fire igniting under my skin with every brush of her thigh against mine.

The best part of the game, though? The comments Paige muttered under her breath that were only for me to hear, a secret between us.

"Careful, you're getting cocky. its cute you think you could beat me"

"If I lose, i'm blaming your witchy British energy."

"You're lucky I like girls who play mean."

And with every comment she threw my way I threw one back, just as hushed, just as private, just as ours.

"Careful, you keep talking and I'm gonna start to think you enjoy the punishment."

"You always this mouthy when you're losing?"

"You play uno the way you play basketball- loud and slightly confused."

The last card hit the pile with a dramatic slap. I grinned triumphantly as Paige groaned, her remaining cards fanning out in surrender.

"That’s it," Paige muttered, slouching back dramatically. "I’ve been publicly humiliated by a British export with a god complex.”

"Careful," I said, swirling the last of the drink in my glass, "you’re starting to sound impressed."

"Worried, actually. I think I’m developing a thing for brutal women with accents."

I smirked—but the alcohol made me hold the eye contact longer than I should have. Paige didn’t look away either.

Around us, the group had descended into that warm, hazy state of laughter and yawns. Someone was lying halfway off the couch. Someone else was loudly attempting to order pizza at 1:17 a.m. with a coupon that had expired in 2019.

Jana yawned. "Alright, no one’s driving anywhere. Everyone just crash here. There’s a couch, two air mattresses, and then me and Paige both have room in our rooms too."

Jana said it so casually, because why wouldn't she? It was totally normal to sleep in a bed with your friends.

Yea unless you recently fucked said friend in said bed.

"Okay, but Rowan, you're with Paige. I am not sleeping with her again, bitch snores." Kk said loudly before flopping on the couch. Sarah rolled her eyes, apparently the only one knowing exactly what kk was doing.

My heart stalled. Paige looked over, one eyebrow raised, a slow smirk creeping in like she knew exactly what kk had just done—without knowing.

“Plenty of room,” Paige said casually, voice rich with something dangerous. “She can take the bed. I’m good on the floor.”

I gave her a look. “That’s not even remotely convincing.”

Paige grinned, tipsy and a little too confident. “Didn’t say I’d stay on the floor.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again, because honestly? I had no idea what I was going to say.

The game was over. But the real one was just beginning.

------

As I followed Paige into her room, the smell of mint and vanilla hit me all at once, and suddenly I was right back at that night again. But this time the memories were softer, an image of the hushed words we shared in between rounds whirled around me.

I laid on my side facing paige, clothes strung everywhere, both of our faces flushed from alcohol and sex. The sheet was pulled over my chest, as Paige laid on her stomach, the sheet rested lowly right above the swell of her ass. I ran my fingers lightly up and down her spine, her head was facing me, hair fanned out on the pillow, lazy grin on her face.

"So.. do you sleep on the left side of the bed too, ya know, since you drive on that side."

"Paige..that doesn't make a single bit of sense?" I said back around a laugh. her grin widened.

"Its a valid question."

"god help me as I enter the American education system that created you."

"Yeah, me, who just had you screaming all of five minutes ago."

I scoffed, flicking her spine with my hand. She laughed, rolling over in a flash to grasp my wrist. And before I knew it she was on me again.

"Rowan", Paige snapped her fingers in front of my face. I jumped backwards, blinking, as my memories faded into nothing again.

"What?" I hummed, looking at her. Paige furrowed her eyebrows at me before repeating herself.

"I asked if you were sure you didn't mind sleeping in the bed with me" She repeated, "I was joking earlier, i will sleep on the floor if you want."

Something deep inside me warmed at the offer, and I shook my head no, "No, it's fine, I mean it's not a big deal." She hummed in response before walking toward her dresser.

She pulled out an old basketball tee first then turned to look at me, "do you sleep in shorts or pants?" she asked.

"Shorts is fine"

She noded, pulling out a pair of boxers to go with the shirt before handing them to me. "Here, you can change in the bathroom if you want."

I nodded and walked to the ensuite bathroom, closing the door behind me. I rested my back against the door and took a deep breath in. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Was I back in the bedroom that got me into this mess? Yes

Was paige outside this door looking ridiculously too attractive for my drunk mind to comprehend? also yes

Would I survive sleeping in a bed with her without fucking up the friendship I have going with my roommate? God send me help.

I changed into her clothes quickly, warmth spreading over my bones as the smell of her embraced me. When I opened the bathroom door Paige was sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through her phone, dressed in a black sports bra and a pair of basketball shorts. She looked up at me and stilled momentarily. Her eyes moved up and down over me slowly.

"Mhm, that's definetly not how I looked when I wore that, but I'm not mad about it." she said, a smirk ever present on her face. I rolled my eyes walking toward the other side of the bed.

"Is flirting your default setting or is it just a me thing?."

"nah, it's just you, London."

I huffed, running my tongue across my teeth to hide my smile. I climbed into the bed and moved the pillows around, and Paige did the same. It wasn't long before we got settled, both lying on our backs looking up at the ceiling.

I let myself lay there, the alcohol still buzzing under my skin, my heartbeat finally began to slow, as the room became enveloped in a quiet hum. The ceiling fan made a clicking noise with every spin. Page's shoulder brushed against mine as she moved around in her spot.

Neither of us spoke.

Maybe it was the way her teasing remarks from earlier still played in a loop in my mind, or the way I could feel the heat of her body beside me, so close but not touching. Or maybe it really was just the alcohol, but the next words fell out of my mouth in a whisper before I could stop them.

"I think about that night... sometimes"

Paige became even more still, if that were possible. It felt like her breathing stopped, but she didnt move, didnt speak.

"try not to, but-" I mumbled, but cut myself off with a sigh. " It doesn't matter". I shook my head, regretting my words instantaneously. But all it took was one sentence from paige for my heart to stop in my chest.

"I remember everything."

I let the words roll through my body, praying to anything above to store that sentence into my bones. To never let this moment, this memory, escape me. The soft sound of her voice, the slight crack in the word 'everything'.

I closed my eyes, gently taking it all in, until my breathing evened out, and sleep overcame me.

------

The next morning I woke up in Paige Bueckers arms for the second time, but this time I didnt panic. I let myself enjoy it for a minute only. Enjoy the way her body fit behind mine like a puzzle peice, the feeling of her nose pressed against the base of my neck, her breaths coming out in soft huffs. Her leg was slotted between mine, making sure our hips were flush together.

Her arm was heavy on my waist, but tight, holding me closer to her like she knew it would be the only time she could. I closed my eyes willing myself to memorize this feeling, before slowly dragging myself out of her hold.

I moved softly and slowly, replacing my body with a pillow for her to hold. And for the second time this month, I left her room dressed in her clothes, with a weighted feeling nagging at my bones. The words of last nights drunken confession wafted through the air, circling around my head.

I pushed them down because it didn't matter; if there was one thing in this world that I could not have, it was Paige Bueckers.

———————————————————————————————

[bluebellstollstudio]

Demo TBA

Status: Drafting Prologue

(Currently: ~1k words)

Links: Demo | Feedback Form | FAQ | Tag List | RO Intros |

Recent Posts: Nicola's Intro | Market Lore #1

Asks are appreciated and NSFW asks are okay 👍

Somewhere in the north west of a land you wake up in a small town you did not fall asleep in. Simply known as the Market, this isolated area is built around the magic of nature, ecosystems, and the checks and balances involved in that. Most residents have some sort of magic and thus a role in maintaining the environment.

Some say they knew you as a child but your memories of those times are not quite all there, can you trust those in the town that you have found yourself lured to in? What are you doing here? Why can't you leave?

Customize your name, nicknames, pronouns, gender, sexuality, physical appearance, personality, etc. some through interactive choices and some through selections

Romance 1 out of 4 gender-locked romanceable characters: The Metalsmith, The Second-in-Command, The Herbalist, or The Gardener - click keep reading to learn more about them!

They're all attracted to all genders though so you can't be locked out of someone's route because of your gender

The ROs have grown up together (and you for some of it?) slowly learn more about the intricacies in their relationships

Get some of your childhood memories back?

With an ecosystem that almost seems alive, try to parse out its intentions and survive while doing so

While you cannot die, for some reason or another, you certainly can get injured which leads to differing paths in the story

(Still considering writing one or two polyamorous relationship options but I will likely start with the individual routes)

Nicola (they/them) - The Metalsmith

Magic: Sunlight Height: 5 feet 8 inches / 1.73 meters Traits: Charismatic, Responsible, Stressed General Appearance: Appearing 24 they have wavy ginger hair that ends just above their shoulders and amber colored eyes. They are lean and toned with particularly strong arm and back muscles due to smithing. Due to an accident with their siblings when they were younger they have a natural slit in their right eyebrow.

Helena (she/her) - The Second-in-Command

Magic: Temperature Regulation Height: 5 feet 3 inches / 1.60 meters Traits: Kind, Polite, Distant General Appearance: She has straight shoulder-length dark brown nearly black hair, typically styled into a wolf cut and appears 23. She has an average build leaning towards curvy and has gray eyes with fair beige skin. She has a beauty mark on her left cheek and monolids.

Lynn (she/her) - The Herbalist

Magic: Air + Water Height: 5 feet 5 inches / 1.65 meters Traits: Genuine, Outgoing, Lost General Appearance: With toned arms and a toned back she has an otherwise average build. She has coily dark brown nearly black hair in chest-length microlocs and warm dark brown skin. Her eyes are dark brown, she appears 24, and has a gap tooth smile.

Cedar (he/him) - The Gardener

Magic: Soil + Communicate with Plants Height: 6 feet 2 inches / 1.88 meters Traits: Strong, Gentle, Guarded General Appearance: He has a functionally muscular build and wavy dark brown, nearly black hair that goes down to his mid-back, typically tied into a low ponytail. With a cooler shade of dark brown skin he has light brown eyes. He appears to be 25 and has a long straight nose.

Yvette (she/her) - The Head of the Market

Magic: ??? Height: 5 feet 10 inches / 1.78 meters Traits: Well Liked, Refined, ??? General Appearance: She appears around 60 and has an angular build and stern looking features. She has cool pale skin and long white hair, due to age, that is typically tied into a low bun with a long blue ribbon. Her eyes are a dark shade of green.

Tag(s): @interact-if

Credits:

Divider credit to @cafekitsune specifically STARS DIVIDER | neon rainbow. # Filled...

Header image and word banners made with Canva by myself!

Profile picture I referenced a bluebell and cobblestone wall and drew it myself

Disclaimer: This is very much a work in progress and subject to change. This is also my first interactive fiction work and I haven't written anything creatively more seriously since I was much younger so I'm trying to get back into that rhythm. I am a university student entering my last year of school so please just keep that in mind in terms of expectations regarding updates and such. Thank you for your interest and understanding! :)

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Chapter 7 - Meet Me In Volgograd

Summary: poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers. WC: 6.6k Original abridged version HERE

CW: +18 content MDNI, Death, use of weapons, mention of injuries, war, sex, PiV sex, oral (M receiving), cum play.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Johnny wakes you after what feels like only a few minutes of sleep. When he’s shaking you awake in the uncomfortable bed it finally hits you how tired you are. You haven’t had a proper sleep since leaving the safehouse the second time. 

“So who’s Nikolai?” You ask as you drag yourself out the bed. You don’t really care but you’ll do anything to keep yourself awake, even asking dumb questions. 

“Old friend of John’s.” 

“John?” You ask pulling your clothes on.

“Price.” You frown at him. 

“You’re both called John? Doesn’t that get confusing?” You ask pulling your boots on. 

“Na, not really. Most of the time people call him Price, Cap or dickhead.” 

“Really?” You say raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head chuckling.

“C’mon wanna get some breakfast?” You shake your head sighing. 

“I want to get a few hours rest on the plane, it feels like I haven’t slept in days.” You say pulling your jacket on. He nods, throwing a bag over his shoulder and picking up the AR standing in the corner of the room. 

“Alright, let's go then.” He stops at the door without opening it. He turns to you, you can see colour rushing to his cheeks.

“Are you- I mean last night.” He grips the barrel of his weapon tighter. “Are you, you know… safe?” 

“Christ. Are you this awkward with every girl you sleep with?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 

“I have the injection thing.” You say pointing at your arm. Now he frowns. “And yeah I’m clean.” 

“Do you have a boyfriend or something?” You shake your head. 

“Me and Ivan, we had a business arrangement. It wouldn’t exactly be good for anyone if the smuggler got pregnant with the handler. He made sure it wouldn’t happen.” Johnny looks a little taken aback by the admission. He nods and turns back to the door opening it.

…

You sleep almost the whole journey to Russia. Nikolai seems nice, you just didn’t have the energy to be friendly with him. Russian, that you expected, you’re surprised Price had allies in Russia, maybe he’s the type of person who has allies everywhere. Johnny shakes you awake again handing you a headset.

“We’re touching down a few kilometres outside of Volgograd. They’ve sent us coordinates of the place they’re hiding out in.” Johnny shouts over the sound of the tiny plane's engine. 

“Are they in the town?” You shout back. 

“Yeah, it should take us a few hours to reach them. They’re keeping tabs on Makarov.” 

“Do they know where he is?” You ask back. 

“Maybe, there’s a Konni stronghold just outside the city. Price thinks that’s where we can get some answers.” Johnny says. You nod looking out the window at the ground below and fields upon fields of Russian countryside.

“Volgograd is pretty, and close to the border. Good Place for Konni to set up shop.” Nikolai says. You can't see him from the seat you picked and Johnny is blocking the door to the cockpit.

“Ever been?” Johnny asks, turning back to look at him. 

“No, it’s a big place, you should try their local cheese.” Nikolai says. Johnny smiles, you yawn and turn to look back out the window as a massive lake come into view. 

…

You landed in a field. Nikolai handed you a massive duffle bag of supplies Price had requested then said his goodbyes. You ran across to a crooked fence surrounding the field as Nikoli took off again. The sun was high in the sky but it’s still cold.

“What are we going to do? Steal a car again?” You ask as you watch Nikolai fly off.

“Na, let’s just walk. We could use the exercise.” He says winking at you.

“What didn't you get enough last night?” You tease him. The thought of a 5 kilometer walk was not exactly on your list of things you wanted to do today. Johnny seems enthusiastic about it even with his wounded arm. 

It looks better, it’s wrapped in compression bandages but with the cream and anti-inflammatory medication the doctors had him taking he doesn’t complain. Your stomach wound on the other hand has been giving you nothing but trouble and last night’s antics just meant you’d pulled on the stitches and now it’s irritated. Nothing a good fistful of painkillers can’t keep on top of. 

The walk turned out to be not as bad as you thought. Johnny talked the whole way, talking about missions they’ve done in Russia, more about why they’re after Makarov. You’re glad he’s talking again, yesterday he was too quiet, it was weird. When you make it to the town it already feels like it’s getting dark, clouds have moved in making the whole place feel moody. 

The town is busy even as you make your way into the outskirts. You’re both dressed in civilian clothes but with the massive duffle bags you have thrown over your shoulders people's eyes still follow you. They know you’re outsiders here, at least you can speak Russian. 

It doesn’t take you long to find the place based on the info Price sent to Johnny. When you make it to the townhouse you feel even more out of place than ever, down the street there is an old woman with no teeth drilling her eyes into you. The quicker you can get inside the better, you already feel like you’ve drawn enough attention to yourself. 

It’s Ghost who opens the door, dressed all in black with that skull mask he wears all the time. It makes goosebumps rise on your body. 

“ Privet .” Johnny says with a little salute before Ghost moves to the side letting you both come in. The building is worn out, it looks abandoned. The stairs up to the second floor are bowing in and the windows are boarded up, although from the outside it just looked like the curtains were drawn.

You follow Ghost into what would have been a dining room although now the place is just a table with some chairs, the kitchen is in a similar state of disrepair. You dump the bag down at the foot of the table. 

“Survived the flight with Nikolai then?” Gaz asks, coming over. He places his hand on your back smiling before reaching down and unzipping it. You see it crammed full of gear, weapons and some electronics. 

“I slept the whole way.” You say. You move over to the table sitting down on one of the chairs looking at the papers on the table. Some are maps, with markers.

“Joh- Soap said you think there's a place nearby where Makarov is hiding?” You say swallowing hard, you’ll have to get used to calling him Soap again. At least while you’re around the others.

“Konni compound, we don’t know if Makarov will be there but we will be able to find answers.” Price says. 

“We’ve seen Al-Qatala and Konni moving in and out the building.” Gaz says putting the laptop on the table. Price pulls it over to him and sits down. 

“No Makarov?” Soap asks as he comes over with a bottle of water in his hand. 

“Not yet.” Ghost says coming over to the table and crossing his arms.

“But we know he’s here, Laswell has been keeping track of him.” Gaz says.

“Sorry to be the sceptic here but are you sure you haven’t missed him?” You say raising an eyebrow. 

“There’s a chance, that's why if he's gone we know we will find intel in the building as to where he is.” Price says.

“Okay, when do we get moving?” Soap asks. 

“Few hours, as soon as it’s dark and the day shift has left. It’ll leave us with only Al-Qatala in the building.” Price says. You nod, getting up out of the chair. 

“I’m going to take a nap then.” You say stretching and looking over at Soap. He smiles at you. “Bedrooms are upstairs I assume?” 

“Yeah, help yourself.” Gaz says and you walk out the dining room and up the creaking steps. As soon as you see a bed you make a b-line for it, closing the door behind you, kicking your boots off and flopping down. You don’t get a chance to close your eyes before there’s a knock at the door. You look over huffing and sitting up in bed.

“Yeah?” You call, a few seconds later Soap opens the door. He steps in closing it behind him. 

“You okay?” He asks coming over to the bed. You move your legs so he can sit down. He hums his hand coming up to your face. You’re already leaning in to kiss him, it’s automatic at this point. His kiss is nice, familiar. So deep it leaves you breathless. 

“I wanna try something.” He says breaking from the kiss. “Do you trust me?”

You nod not sure what to say or what he’s planning. You suddenly don’t want to sleep, your heart hammering in your chest. He gets up heading back to the door.

“I’ll be right back.” He says smiling. You do trust him, you remember last night how different it felt, how good it feels. You want to believe it's more than just a fling, more than just a transaction. Sex has always felt like that to you, something you have to give to get something in return. It didn’t feel like that with Johnny. 

At least not yet. You pull your shirt off over your head flinging it to the side, the thought of having sex again makes the exhaustion fall away. You shuffle your pants off too, kicking them out of the end of the bed. 

There’s another knock at the door, you frown not expecting it but call Johnny in anyway. Only it’s not Johnny who enters the room, it's Ghost. You immediately reach down pulling the blanket over your exposed top. 

“Ghost!” You shout, turning away feeling heat rush to your cheeks. You feel embarrassed, stupid. You should never have trusted Johnny. You threw your shirt in the middle of the room. 

“Is this what you’ve been up to Johnny?” Ghost asks, you hear the door close. Johnny comes back over to the bed, his hand lands on your back.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you would be, you know. So eager.” You turn to look at him. 

“Could have fucking warned me.” You spit at him. He smiles, leaning forward and kissing you. It relaxes you, you forget Ghost is in the room. When he’s finished his hand comes up to cup your chin. “You look cute when you get flustered.”  

Him saying that just makes you blush more. You look over at Ghost stood by the door, Johnny’s hand lands on yours gripping the blanket. It’s reassuring, it’s what you need. 

“I can ask him to leave.” Johnny says. You sigh looking back at him, you do trust him. 

“I guess you really weren't joking when you said you were close.” You sigh. He smiles getting up off the bed and going over to Ghost. He wraps his arm around his waist, his other hand pushing up under his shirt. 

“I know you’ve been looking, you all have.” Johnny says. Ghost’s eyes look dark, the mask makes him look like such an intimidating person too. He’s big, broad shoulders, definitely the tallest out of all of them. It doesn’t help making him feel any less intimidating. You watch as Johnny presses up against him, his face just reaches his neck, he presses his face into it.

Suddenly the embarrassment fades and you swing your legs out the side of the bed. You flick your eyes between Ghost and Johnny. 

“Let me tell you, she’s as good as you think she is.” Johnny is whispering, or at least trying to. You feel yourself blushing again as Johnny turns his body, his hand slips out from Ghost’s shirt to the front of his pants. Ghost turns to look at Johnny and you let the blanket drop from your chest. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, MacTavish.” Ghost says, his voice low, rumbling in the room. 

“Maybe, but I know you want to play it too.” Johnny says reaching up to grip the bottom of Ghost’s mask pulling it up to reveal his lips. He steps up on his toes to kiss him. It does something to you, the sight of them both attacking each other's lips. Johnny slips his hand down into Ghost’s pants, you watch as he turns to face Johnny better, his hands running up to grip his arms.

You wet your lips, you press your thighs together feeling a throb travel through you. Your mouth fills with saliva as you watch Johnny fiddle with the front of Ghost's pants, unclipping his belt and reaching in to pull out his cock. He's bigger than Johnny, you can tell that already. You watch as Ghost breaks from the kiss pulling his gloves off and flinging them to the side before gripping Johnny’s face pulling him back into a kiss. 

Your hand wanders down your body, finding your already soaked pussy and coating your fingers in slick. You hear Johnny moan his hand pumping Ghost’s cock in his fist. You bite the inside of your cheek as you move your hand to rub your clit. 

You watch as Ghost breaks from the kiss, his hands dropping down Johnny’s arms. He turns to look at you, you freeze. Johnny smiles, walking over to you pulling his shirt over his head. When he reaches you he hums, smiling before pulling the blanket off you to reveal your hand rubbing yourself. 

He reaches down, picking up your hand bringing it to his mouth. He presses his lips to your soaked fingers, taking them in his mouth and licking them clean. 

“Johnny.” You breathe, he chuckles, pulling your hand out and turning to Ghost. 

“C’mon Simon, let's show her how great you are.” You look past Johnny to hear Ghost coming towards you. Simon, that's his name, he comes over to you, his mask resting on his nose. He leans down and kisses you. 

His kiss is rougher than Johnny, his lips not as soft, he presses his tongue into your mouth and you crane your neck up so he doesn’t have to lean down as much. Johnny’s hands have made their way over to your breasts. His fingers brush over your nipples, cupping them as his face presses into your neck. 

“Christ, didn’t tell me she had pretty lips.” Simon says his thumb coming up to brush your cheek. 

“Didn’t tell you a lot of things.” Johnny says smiling. 

“Simon.” You say looking up at him. He has brown eyes, dark eyes, but they don’t look as scary now. You’re seeing them in a different light, it’s like he’s a different person. 

“I had my fun last night, it’s your turn now LT.” Johnny reaches over, pulling your chin to look at him. “Isn’t that right love, you're going to show Simon how good you are.” You nod up at him, he leans over and kisses you. 

You let them move you, their hands running over the different parts of your body. You end up laid flat on your back with a naked Johnny kneeling down by your head. You look up to the end of the bed seeing Simon getting into position between your legs. He kicked his boots off to take his trousers off but left the shirt and mask. 

Maybe he’s not ready for you to see his face, maybe he doesn’t trust you yet. He’s about to fuck you though, his thick cock is laid on your stomach while he hooks his arms under your knees. You look over at Johnny stroking himself right by your face. Before he even needs to ask you, you open your mouth. 

He winks at you before pressing the tip of his cock to your lips. You let him press into your mouth, you smile as you watch his head tip back. You can’t move your head to look at Simon but you can feel him, pushing fingers inside you before replacing them with his cock. 

He’s thicker than Johnny too causing you to moan round Johnny’s cock, it just makes him push into you harder hitting the back of your throat and making your eyes water. 

“Holy shit, perfect sweetheart.” Johnny says his hand, coming to brush through your hair. 

“You’re making her look so pretty over there Johnny.” You hear Simon say as he thrusts into you. 

“Yeah, you should hear her when she moans. Got a pretty little mouth on her too.” Johnny says as he pulls his cock out your mouth. “Go on love, show him how pretty you sound.” 

You moan through gritted teeth as Simon drives into you harder, pinning your legs out the way with his massive hands. 

“Simon.” You call looking over at him, his mouth is tipped open, his eyes almost glowing in the dim light of the room. You turn your head to look back over at Johnny who smiles down at you and winks. You turn your head and open your mouth again. 

“Christ love, I can’t tell what's better, your mouth or that pretty pussy of yours.” Johnny says as his hand reaches down to play with one of your breasts. 

“You don’t have to pick Johnny.” You hear Simon pant. You smile up at Johnny, your eyes being blurred by the tears streaming down your face. One of Simon’s hands drops your leg so his thumb can rub your clit. You moan around Johnny again which makes him twitch in your mouth. 

Johnny brushes your tears away with his free hand. You close your eyes letting yourself get lost in the pleasure of Simon pumping into you like it’s the first cunt he’s had in years and Johnny hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. 

You moan again, you’re getting close, the stretch of Simon’s cock feels too good, he’s moaning now too, he sounds just as pretty as Johnny. You open your eyes again, Johnny’s fingers pinch your nipple playing with your breast making vibrations pulse down to your pussy. 

“Don’t stop Johnny. She’s clenching around me so tight.” Simon says as his thumb pressing down on your clit causing you to squirm under him. You close your eyes again, your body tensing as you cum. Johnny cums too, you barely react trying not to bite down on his cock. All you feel is his hot seed hitting the back of your throat. 

“Fuck love, fuck me.” Johnny pants pulling out of your mouth letting you breathe. Simon pulls out of you when he cums thick ropes squirting over your chest. You look over at him, his eyes closed, hand wrapped around his cock. 

“Look at you.” Johnny coos, his fingers brushing over your chest scooping up some of the cum leaking down to your stomach. He presses the fingers into his mouth, Simon hums and you feel him step off the bed. 

He walks over to your head and Johnny steps back. Simon looks down at you as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He bends down to kiss you. A second later he breaks away pressing his nose against yours. 

“Riley.” He whispers. You open your eyes as he stands back up pulling his mask down. You watch him reach down to pick his clothes up and Johnny bends down by your head. 

Simon Riley. You smile at Johnny. 

“Not as scary as he seems right?” Johnny says stroking your face. 

“I was never scared of him.” You smile. 

“Good.” Johnny says. 

…

You make it down the stairs last. Johnny came to wake after what felt like no time at all. You really need to get a good night's sleep soon. You have a feeling that won’t be happening though. When you make it to the dining room things feel different. Johnny is standing next to Gaz and Ghost looks almost like he’s sulking in the corner of the room. 

Price is leaning over the table looking at images of a compound. “We split into 2 teams, you three go round the back me and Ghost will go in the front.” He says before looking over at you. He frowns before standing up straight and crossing his arms. 

“The building should be running with the night staff. Al-Qatala only, we’ll need to disable the alarms, you should be able to cut the power directly from a room at the back of the building.” Price says pointing at one of the photos. “After that make your way up to the top floor, that's where the main control room is, if Makarov is anywhere he’ll be there. If not, it's where we’ll find out where he is.” 

“Makarov will know we’re here as soon as we take the place.” Johnny says. 

“That's why we have to act fast, as soon as we know where he is we move.” Price says.

“Unless he’s there.” Gaz says.

“He won’t be there.” you say. Price’s head snaps over to you. “I’ll be the pessimist.” You shrug. 

“We plan for the possibility he is there.” Price says.

“And the possibility he’s not.” Simon says. Looking at him now looming in the shadows. The person you saw in the bedroom just a few hours ago seems like a completely different person then the one hiding in the shadows right now. Ghost is a fitting name.

“Capture or kill?” Johnny asks, stepping forward. 

“Kill. He’s not getting away again.” Price says. Johnny likes that nodding at him and turning back to Gaz. You look round the room, they've been after this guy for a while. 

“Get ready, we’ll be leaving soon.” Price says, crossing his arms. Everyone starts to move and he looks over at you. “A word?” You swallow hard, nodding and walking round the table to him while everyone leaves the room. You’re nervous all of a sudden.

“Are you ready for this?” He asks quietly, bending down to speak to you closer. 

“Yes.” You say holding your ground. 

“It’s going to be dangerous, you could get hurt.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” 

“No. I just need to know you’re ready.” he asks, you look up in his eyes.

“I’m ready.” You nod. He smiles for a second and you move to walk past him. He grabs your arm tight. “You do anything to hurt them and I swear to God I'll put a bullet in your head myself.” You look back digging your eyes into him. Why is he saying this now? Does he know? You pull your arm out his grip. 

“You wouldn’t be taking me if you didn’t trust me.” You say.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right about that.” 

…

There’s thunder in the distance, a chill in the air. You’re all laid on a hill looking down at the back of the compound, there are lights on but no personnel. 

“Soap, we’re in position. How’s it looking on your end?” Price’s voice calls in your ear. 

“All clear Cap, we’re ready to move in.” Soap replies. The comps still sound strangely formal to you. 

“Okay, keep coms open, let us know when you’ve cut the security.” Price says as you all get to your feet. 

“Copy.” Soap says. You have an AR again, you’re still not used to the bigger weapons. Price’s warning is still ringing loud in your head. Why did he choose to say that now? Does he know what happened between you all? He is the captain, maybe he does. You follow 

Gaz and Soap down the hill to the back door. Gaz's foot slams into the door and it swings open. Soap goes in first and you follow behind him, you’re almost good at this now following his movements clearing rooms like you’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Soap opens a door to another room, it’s warm you follow him inside. It looks like a maintenance room. Gaz comes back and stands in the doorway as Soap walks over to a control panel. You watch as he opens what looks like a fuzebox, he takes wire cutters off his vest and gets to work.

“Price, security systems are offline.” Soap’s voice comes into your ears as he closes the box.

“Copy, we’re moving in. Make your way to the control room.” Price says. You follow Gaz who leads, Soap following behind you. You run into people on the way but Gaz takes them down, the smell of gunpowder and blood is just something you need to get used to. You make it to the next floor, Gaz calls out your location as you move through the building. 

Each floor you go through you find more people. Gaz and Soap take them down, they’re way more confident firing off at people compared to your hesitation. You all turn the corner and run into Price and Ghost. They stack up on the door, this is the last place you need to check, if Makarov is going to be here he’s behind the door. 

Price nods and Ghost kicks the door open, it all happens quickly, voices ring out, shots ring out too. There's a pained groan as everyone goes into the room. You go over to the computer in the room, as soon as you move the mouse you see how corrupted it is.

“The whole thing’s been wiped.” You say. You turn to see Ghost and Price pull the man to his feet and throw him down in a chair. The man is shouting in Arabic through gritted teeth. You turn to start looking through papers with Soap trying to find anything you can to help. 

“Where’s Makarov?” Price asks. 

“Go to hell!” He shouts in English. You hear zip ties as Ghost ties him to the chair. 

“Where is Makarov?” Price asks again. The man spits blood out on the floor, you see the wound on his shoulder. 

“I’ll never say!” Price sighs and Ghosts fist meets his face. It’s all starting to feel a little deja vu. You stick to what you’re doing, looking through the papers for anything useful.

“This was dated today. What does it mean?” Soap asks handing you a piece of paper. 

“It’s a termination order. They’re storing something here, it’s in the garage. Whatever it is, is being picked up tomorrow then the post will be shut down.” You say turning to look over at Price and Ghost. 

“What’s being stored?” Price asks. 

“It doesn’t say.” You reply, putting the paper down on the table.

“Okay, the three of you go check the garages.” Price says. Gaz leaves the room first and you follow him back through the building. Now it feels weird walking back through this place and over bodies, there weren't that many Al-Qatala and now you know why, they probably got sent home days ago. 

“I thought you guys were keeping an eye on this place? You didn’t see them moving anything into the garages?” You ask Kyle ahead of you.

“No, only people moving in and out.” He replies. When you make it outside it’s starting to rain and the thunder sounds closer. 

“When did the message say they were coming?” Soap asks as tests the handle on the door, it’s locked.

“Tomorrow morning, it didn't have time.” You say.

“Strange.” Soap says, you frown looking over at him as Gaz kicks the door. 

“Why? There could have been multiple messages, we only found one.” You say shrugging. 

“Why though? They did such a good job at wiping the computer, shredding everything else why leave that one message?” Soap says. A pit forms in your stomach. You turn to look at him. 

“Probably just didn’t have time before we got there.” You swallow it away looking back at Gaz who gives the door one last kick and it swings open. Maybe he’s right, maybe you’re overthinking about the whole thing, they are more experienced with this kind of stuff. 

You watch Gaz walk in and you move to follow him. 

“Holy shit.” You say when you walk in the room, the wall separating the two garages has been knocked through, there’s 2 trucks both of the beds look full and have been covered with tarp. It’s the ones you recognise from the CCTV footage Gaz showed Farah, the ones that came over the border a few days ago. 

Gaz walks over to one and pulls the tarp off to reveal missiles. 

“Holy shit.” Soap says. His hand runs over the American flag stamped on the metal. 

“American? These are ULF missiles.” You say.

“Were.” Gaz corrects you. 

“Price, we’ve got trucks full of American missiles here.” Soap says over the radio. There’s no reply, Gaz looks over frowning. 

“Price. Come in Price.” Soap says, you’re all already moving to the door before Soap even has a reply. 

“Ghost, Price come in.” Soap calls as you all jog back over to the main building. Now the pit in your stomach is back. What if they’re hurt? Fuck what if they’re dead? Soap and Gaz keep trying to call them as you sprint up the steps.  

“Price!” Gaz shouts as he sprints into the room. You make it in just after him, Price is rubbing his head using the chair to get back to his feet. The place looks like even more of a mess than before, stuff thrown everywhere a lamp knocked off the desk flashing on the floor. There had clearly been a struggle. 

“Where's Ghost?” Soap asks. 

“He went after him.” Price says, Soap rushes out the door.

“Go with him.” Gaz says, you nod following Soap down the hall. You have no idea where he could be but you follow Soap back down to the ground floor. You both freeze for a moment. Soap putting his hand up to stop you. You’re listening for noise. Soap is scanning down the corridors looking out the windows. 

You hear a gunshot.

“This way!” Soap shouts and sprints down a hall. It’s dark and there are no lights on. When you turn a corner you see an open door. The rain is coming down hard now, the thunder sounds like it’s right on top of you. 

You make it out and see Ghost wrestling with the guy on the floor. Soap slowly walks towards him with his weapon trained on them. You follow what he’s doing, keeping your distance, they’re rolling around on the floor, you can’t tell who has the upper hand. The man is clearly putting up a good fight. 

Soap looks like he wants to intervene. You hear a rumbling sound and the almost deafening sound of the rain on the garage roof. You’re not sure what to do, Ghost manages to push the guy off him and they end up on their sides. You think that's it. Soap steps up to them until you see the glint off a knife. You don’t get a chance to call it out the sound of crashing metal distracts you, you turn to the source of the noise seeing a truck barreling towards you. 

“Move!” Soap shouts as he grabs your vest pulling you out its path. You both fall to the ground as the car drives past, it stops just before crashing into the garages. Soap is firing at it before he’s even stood up. You get to your feet and click the safety off your weapon as people jump out the car. You see the weapons in their hands, you don’t care about shooting them now. It’s kill or be killed. 

Your shots are not great, you can see some of them hitting the car instead of people, you’ve only ever shot an AR once in basic training. It comes back to you though surprisingly, like riding a bike. You see someone fall to the floor, you hear shouting behind you and turn quickly to see Price and Gaz coming out the building. 

You breathe a sigh of relief at least it’s not all just down to you and your shit aim. You fire off another shot, this one actually hits one of their shoulders and he falls to the ground. You look over to where Ghost was fighting that man they’re not there anymore. There can’t be many more guys left, the car only has 5 seats. 

The shots stop, you follow behind Soap as he moves closer to the car. Its engine is still running, the doors swung open. You make it over, Soap kicks the bodies of the people on the floor. You make it round to the other side of the truck and Soap leans in, turning the engine off.

“Where’s Ghost?” Price asks. You look around, maybe he got up and hid from the gunfight. You don’t see the guy he was wrestling with either. There’s another gunshot. You all turn, raising your weapons towards the source. Price and Gaz sprint off in the direction first and you follow behind them. 

You rush round the corner of the garages and see Ghost stood there over a body putting his pistol back in its holster. 

“You solid?” Price asks as Ghost turns. He nods, you see him reach down pulling a knife out the man's shoulder, he wipes it on the grass before putting it back in his vest.

“What do we do now?” Soap asks.

“They know we were here, they will have told Makarov already.” Price says. You can hear the frustration in his voice. 

“They probably still want those missiles though.” Gaz says. You shiver, the adrenaline has worn off and you’re drenched. There’s a crack of thunder and the rain seems to pick up even harder. 

“Gaz is right. Even if they managed to get word out to Makarov, it’s a big stash he has just sitting here. He wouldn't want us taking it back to the ULF.” Soap says. 

“Okay. We’ll stay here tonight, follow them in the morning.” Price says. “Chances are they lead us straight to Makarov.” 

“And if they don’t come?” You ask. 

“They’ll come. They’ll want those missiles.” Price says. He sounds sure about it as he walks past you back to the building. You look over and see Ghost reaching down to pick the body up off the floor. Price orders you all to clear the place up. In case they didn’t manage to get the word out to Makarov, you don’t want to spook whoever is coming in the morning. 

It feels kind of pointless but you follow the orders nonetheless. When you’re done you wish you could take a shower and dry your sodden clothes. You’re not that lucky though, everyone seems to fall into a routine when you’re back inside and somewhat dry. Ghost collects everyone's weapons, he takes his time taking them apart and cleaning them like he’s done it a million times. He probably has. 

Gaz and Soap end up on clothes drying duty laying everything on radiators and cranking the heat up in the building to an almost uncomfortable level. You decide to go back up to the main control room and search the place for anything useful. It’s a longshot but you would rather be doing something then nothing. 

You end up trying to organise things, for some reason it makes you feel better. Most of the paperwork is out of date or they have done their best to censor or destroy everything. It’s probably fruitless until you come across a locked drawer. Now you want to get it open. There has to be a way to brute force it open. You take your knife out and jam it between the draws. You kneel down on the floor angling the knife down then pulling it towards you. 

It doesn’t seem to be doing anything. You try again, using more strength crying out and pulling until it hurts. You let go of the knife now stuck in the drawer huffing and letting out a breath. 

“What are you doing?” Price asks. You look up over the desk at him. 

“There’s a locked drawer here.” You say pointing even though you know he can’t see. He comes in walking round the desk to see what you’ve been up to. You hear him chuckle when he sees the knife sticking out the drawer. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small key.

“What you just had that this whole time.” You say tutting and reaching up to take it out his hand. 

“Ghost found it on his body.” He shrugs. You open the drawer pulling your knife out. You see the laptop straight away. You stand up, putting it on the desk and opening it. It turns on and there is no login. 

“What is it with all these people and never using passwords?” You say out loud. 

“Makes our job easier.” Price says. 

“Yeah also probably means there’s probably nothing important on it.” You say opening the documents folder. You sort them by most recent and open it. 

“What is it?” He asks as you scan over the document.

“Something about new orders. They’re moving, they know you’re after them.” You say as you continue reading. “They’re planning something too, something big.” 

“In Urzikstan?” He asks. You shake your head opening another document.

“It doesn’t say, this is a shipping manifest by the look of it. Sent from Moscow.” You close it down looking at the list. “There’s a lot here, it could take hours to sift through all this.”

“Can’t you do a keyword search or something?” He asks. 

“I don’t really know much about computers.” You sigh. 

“Gaz does, c’mon.” He says. You close the laptop lid, you expected him to have moved but he’s just stood there looking at you. You feel your heart pick up speed, he’s frowning at you for a second then his expression goes soft. 

“You did good today.” He says. You swallow the nerves.

“You don’t have to tell me that every time.” You say trying to lighten the mood. He hums, pressing his lips together and angling his body closer to you. 

“How was your time with Soap at the ULF base?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. He knows, he definitely knows and this is a test. Or maybe he doesn’t and he wants you to confess so he can send you back home. 

“Good.” You manage to say. You won’t say anything, you don’t want to get them into trouble. 

“I heard it went more than good.” He says in a low voice, his hand lands on your hip. You freeze in place, his touch is nice, his eyes are blue like Johnny’s, a deeper blue though. Maybe Johnny had already talked about what happened, he did say they were all together. You don’t know if you’re upset or relieved he maybe spoke about you. Price doesn’t seem mad, his eyes scanning round your face is body inching closer to you. 

“I’m only slightly annoyed,” he says. Great, here it comes, this is it, this is where he tells you to leave. You open your mouth ready for the string of apologies to come out. You don’t get a chance though as he leans down to kiss you. 

He takes your breath away, literally . His kiss is deep, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you close to him. You almost can’t believe it’s happening, his kiss is soft like Johnny, he’s slow too letting you control the speed. His beard tickles your face, you don’t mind though. Before you can help yourself your hand runs up his arm. 

He breaks from the kiss first, your heart is still pounding in your chest. He smiles at you. 

“You said you were annoyed.” You say swallowing, he chuckles, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“Yeah, that MacTavish got to you first.” He smiles.

Banners by plum98

[outofcontexttokusatsu]

MOST POPULAR RIDER EVER FOREVER (FOR NOW) TOP 5 RANKING

"Kris, you hack fraud, what the hell? Wasn't this supposed to be posted a week ago?" Look I'm a busy girl sue me okay?

It was a hard fought battle with plenty of upsets, shocking reveals, and unexpected betrayals of fan mentality, but at the end 5 Riders stood the tallest at the top of the list!

Without further ado, our finalists!

#5: Kamen Rider Vram

One of our most recent Riders on the list, everyone's favorite antisocial pudding squid man bullied his way into the top 5 much to his own annoyance. And it's hard not to see why! Beyond his tragic backstory and lust for revenge, Vram has shown impeccable skills both in combat prowess and having the shockingly unique ability to sidestep Misunderstandings Plots in a single bound. While his recency may give him an unfair advantage, he certainly does earn high marks.

#4: Kamen Rider Gavv

Of course, it's only natural that the main Candy Boy himself beat out Vram. Our current (for a little while longer) Main Rider, Gavv leaps ahead to the unlucky 4th place! While the old guard may protest at his high position due to his current headlining status, Gavv hasn't entirely unearned his popularity! With a unique look and an even more unique fighting style, Gavv has set himself apart from his contemporaries. And not just that, but Gavv has managed to recapture the mentality of the classic Riders for a new era, redefining what it means to be a Rider for the modern age. In lieu of flowers, Gavv has requested fruit snacks as a gift.

#3: Kamen Rider Den-O

Racing in from the future, our favorite time-hopping Rider comes ever so close to the climax but fails to hit the top. With a colorful array of personalities and ever changing fighting styles, Den-O has remained an evergreen (or everred in this case) Rider in the eyes of fans new and old. And as he's still getting new content to this day, the (literal) hype train for Den-O will likely never die. Trends come and go, but Den-O is forever.

#2: Kamen Rider OOO

He might have 3 parts, but OOO takes the 2nd place on this ranking! Possessing possibly the most alternate forms of any Rider, OOO is a veritable rainbow of a Rider (in more ways than one) and with rainbows comes sunshine, naturally, and that certainly describes OOO to a T. Being one of the most tragic Main Riders in the franchise, OOO defies what fate hands to him and strives to become the bastion of happiness and joy to all around him. OOO is truly one of the best encapsulations of what being a Kamen Rider truly means, and even if he's not at #1 in popularity, he's #1 deep in my heart.

#1: Kamen Rider Double

He might be two people, but Double stands alone at #1 above all his contemporaries. After all, when you're your own best friend you don't need anyone else besides you do you? Still by and far the most popular entry point to the franchise, Double's cast and story remains one of the strongest the franchise has to offer, but that alone doesn't earn him the top place. With an eccentric personality, unique style of movement (and not just in combat), and gorgeously simple suit, Double likewise is a brilliant definition of what a Kamen Rider is at the plainest level. He may not be the flashiest Rider, or the most exotic, or even the oldest, but nevertheless he remains strong in the hearts and minds of the world. And that enough has earned him #1 on this list.

And that's our ranking! The full results will be released in audio form soon enough, and there's plenty of shocks and surprises to be had! Keep an eye out for that, but for now our winners bask in their victory above their contemporaries.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

More 🪷 so I can keep sharing my thoughts!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷 (Chris and Shannon oh my god! Only a few years apart in age - that’s so heartbreaking and such an interesting story premise! Can’t wait to see where you take it! Also looking forward to the Shannon Eddie reunion because I’m sure it’ll be wonderfully angsty! And you best believe my mind has been whirling trying to guess who the fifth person to return will be - not trying to get any real hints from you but it is someone already dead in canon right? Really excited to learn who it’ll be!)

In case my long rambling thoughts didn’t make it clear - I’m really so excited for this story! I feel like it’s gonna be the perfect combination of two of my favorite things - established happy future fics and deep varied character interactions (especially when some of those are between less explored dynamics) I’m already loving all the different POVs and I’m really glad that you’re doing another long fic! I’m so excited to go on this new journey with you!

- PCA <3

THANKS PCA! So glad you're loving it. It's such a fun world to explore. I have so many plans.

500 for 🪷:

---

“We should make a list of everyone we love who has died and what child of the 118 they might appear by,” Chris says. “And cross reference that list with whoever on it might be connected to Chimney, too. So far everyone back is someone we didn’t want to die, so probably start there.”

There’s a moment of silence across the group. 

“Yeah, that’s… That’s probably the smartest thing to do,” Buck eventually says. 

“Definitely,” Maddie agrees. “Good thinking, Chris.”

At that moment, Kevin decides he can’t handle much more of this. He doesn’t know anyone. He doesn’t have any answers. Both their theories pose Kevin as a symptom, not a cause, so… So he doesn’t actually need to be part of this list making. He died before any of these people came into Howie’s life. 

He stands, leaving his tea mostly untouched.

“Where are you going?” Howie asks. 

“I need some air,” he says. 

He doesn’t ask permission. He doesn’t leave room for follow up questions. He just turns and leaves Howie’s new brother’s house.

Shannon

Shannon’s not sure what to do once Kevin leaves the house. She sort of wants to join him. Fresh air could really do her some good right now. Not being in the middle of a conversation she only understands half of could do her some good. But she doesn’t want to walk away from Christopher. Even if he’s acting sort of… Cold? 

“Should someone go after him?” Maddie asks when the door shuts behind Kevin. She’s looking pointedly at her husband.

“I wouldn’t,” Bobby says. “At least, not for a minute.”

Maddie looks at him curiously. 

“Today has been incredibly overwhelming,” Bobby says. “And as much as I love you all and am happy to see you, it’s wearing on me. Kevin only knows Chim. It’s probably a lot less tolerable for him.”

Shannon nods. “Maybe he just needs a little break. And maybe… Maybe if someone does go after him, it should be one of us.”

After all, it hasn’t looked like Chimney has been that focused on Kevin’s reactions to things. Shannon understands. His brain is more or less scrambled eggs, right now. But still. Kevin needs more than what he’s getting. Shannon is lucky Eddie seemed to handle her return better than their son. Though, he’s her child. She shouldn’t put anything on him.

Bobby gives Shannon an appreciative look.

“Exactly,” he says. 

“We should get to the list,” Christopher says. “Start figuring this out.”

Shannon looks at her son. He’s smart. Clearly so smart. He’s got to be, to have the job he has. He’s solutions oriented. Pragmatic. She’s learning so much about him today. She just wishes she didn’t have to learn about him like this. 

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “Good idea.”

“I’ll get paper!” Buck suggests, standing quickly.

“Or one of us could type it, because it’s not 2003,” Harry suggests. 

Buck scowls unseriously. Shannon feels a little sick at 2003 being referred to like it was ye ancient times.

[irrevocablecondition]

au where andrew works in a 911 call center and he frequently gets the same person calling. it's pure fucking luck who gets which call but somehow, he always gets this one - a rough but strong voice, a hint of british peeking through but a variety of other accents pop up interchangingly in the vowels. a voice with shaky exhales that always rattles off the exact information. he lists off the injuries, the location, what has already been done to help, how much time the patient has left if they don't hurry.

this happens and over and over and over again until one day the voice is illegible through the hyperventilation and the stuttering that andrew finally has to actually Speak. he can normally handle these calls in complete silence, the man on the other end hanging up as soon as the information has been passed over in that well-practised way, but this time he has to speak.

he has to speak to call him down, passing across his own name - utilising "the power of familiarity" they're taught to - and asking for a name in return, getting a gritted "Nathaniel" through the line. the name from andrew's mouth does nothing to quench the other man's panic but eventually he manages to calm down enough to say what he needs to say, and then he's gone again.

and that's the crack that opens it all.

there's more calls, always the same structure but with slight variations - a "Hello, Andrew" and a "should be an easy one for whoever you send out". once a, "i'm actually not sure where i am" that has andrew asking for landmarks and details and trying to piece together the image of this man standing around some signs and some trees with a scarcely-used construction site in the background.

and, of course, there's the day Nathaniel's call gets sent to someone else at the call center. of course, there's the day andrew hears a tap on the back of his chair and he turns around to his coworker letting him know that line 3 is asking for him.

of course, there's the day andrew has to listen as Nathaniel lists off his own injuries, trying to regurgitate them in the same way he normally does but falling short when andrew asks how long the patient is likely to last. nathaniel doesn't really know that he's giving himself away until he takes in a shallow breath and says "I don't know how long I have."

there's the day andrew is panicking and sending out an ambulance whilst he talks nathaniel throw what to do - it's pointless, andrew knows that he knows, he's read the reports from the other calls. all of the reports that talk about meticulous care and cleaned wounds, tourniquets tied around limbs and gunshot wounds stuffed with loose fabric. how there's never anyone else on the scene but always a clear trail of footsteps guiding the way easily. it's pointless, but he does it anyway, he talks him through it anyway.

and, of course, there's the moment right when andrew can hear the sirens in the background. when they're so, so, so close to reaching this man that he hears a sharp inhale and a slow breath out, something that could have been a laugh if it came from lungs that weren't so overworked, and it's just a quiet "It's actually Neil, by the way. My name's Neil," right before the line goes dead.

au where andrew is a 911 call operator and ends up tied in with Neil "mhm yeah i guess i work with the mafia. dont really want to but yk 🤷‍♂️ you keep them alive!" Josten

[shall-we-die]

I love the request you made for me ... So delicious ~

If you don't mind can you do a headcannon for sylus ( love anda deespaces )

"Their ideal partner"

Pretty please...~

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{Their ideal partner}

☰[Main list]•⊰ Love and deepspace

↬[A/N]•⊰ Hiii~ I'm happy you liked it. Hope you enjoy this one too ❤

╚═══════════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

[Sylus]

1. Intellectually Curious & Sharp

Sylus likely values intelligence and wit. His ideal partner would be someone who can engage in deep conversations, challenge his ideas, and keep up with his analytical mind. They might share theories about the cosmos, mysteries, or even philosophical debates.

2. Independent but Loyal

While Sylus may come off as reserved or even aloof, he’d appreciate someone who has their own passions and ambitions. However, once trust is established, he’d want a partner who is fiercely loyal—someone who stands by him even when things get complicated.

3. Emotionally Resilient

Given his possibly tragic 😭😭😭 or mysterious past, Sylus might have walls up. His ideal partner would be patient, understanding, and emotionally strong—someone who doesn’t push too hard but also doesn’t let him retreat entirely into himself.

4. Mysterious or Enigmatic Themselves

Sylus seems like the type who is drawn to puzzles and secrets. A partner with their own air of mystery—whether it’s a hidden past, unique abilities, or just an intriguing personality—would keep him fascinated.

5. Calm & Composed Under Pressure

If Sylus is involved in high-stakes situations (as many characters are), he’d respect a partner who remains level-headed in danger rather than panicking. They might even work as a seamless team in crises.

6. Shares His Interests (Astronomy, Science, or the Supernatural?)

Depending on his hobbies, his ideal match might love stargazing, researching anomalies, or exploring the unknown alongside him. A shared passion would deepen their bond.

7. Subtle but Meaningful Affection

Sylus doesn’t strike me as overly flashy with romance. His ideal partner would appreciate small, meaningful gestures—like quiet moments together, a knowing glance, or a rare but heartfelt confession—over grand, dramatic displays. (Yeah, or getting married in a church with no one around... that's totally one of those small gestures Sylus loves.)

8. A Balance to His Personality

If Sylus is brooding or serious, his partner might bring warmth and lightness to his life. Alternatively, if he’s more detached, someone who grounds him emotionally could be perfect.

9. Trusts Him Despite His Secrets

If Sylus has hidden motives or a shadowy past, his ideal partner would trust him even when things seem unclear—but also wouldn’t let him get away with outright deception if it harms others.

10. Unintimidated by His Intensity

Whether he’s cold, calculating, or just deeply focused, his partner wouldn’t be easily fazed. They’d match his energy—whether by teasing him out of his seriousness or standing firm when he’s being stubborn. (But don't worry Big bad boss always has enough time for his kitten~)

[moondollx]

Master List -Bucky Barnes

This masterlist contains some (+18) content so minors do not interact. The fics are NOT MINE i´m just recommending them bc i loved reading them all <3 CREDITS TO ALL THIS AMAZING WRITERS! ⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡

BUCKY BARNES

☆ After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process. -Link ☆ Bucky wants to ask you out and you give him the courage to do so in an unexpected way. -Link ☆ He left you behind to keep you safe, but safety never stopped the heartbreak. Now, a year of grief, silence, and sleepless nights unravel the moment he shows up at your door with his new team—bruised, breathless, begging. You’re angry and he’s sorry, but the love is still there. It always has been. -Link ☆ No one else to turn to -Link ☆ Going on a date with bucky barnes and it all goes so nicely, so sweetly, so smoothly. you both had so much fun, chemistry and a good time. he's charming, witty and he keeps flirting and complimenting you at every chance he gets. he held your hand all night long, neither of you even noticed it, it just happened naturally, your cheeks hurt from how much you're smiling and both of your hearts are at ease.. that's until the date comes to an end, it's time to pay and you ask him if he wants to go 50/50. -Link ☆ Bucky, knowing the team needs a new place to hide, turns to the only person he knows will support him. You didn't expect him to bring an entire team with him. -Link ☆ You're Bucky's ex-wife and you always seem to be there whenever he needs you. -Link ☆ Bucky Barnes has messed up big time ... he just doesn't know it until he sees you and realises he really should've checked his texts. -Link ☆ Bucky and you are hosting a dinner party for undercover purposes. -Link ☆ After a rare night off, you stumble back into avengers tower at 2 am.. tipsy, feet hurting, and definitely not expecting to run into Bucky Barnes on the couch. -Link ☆ On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order? -Link ☆ Hypothermia -Link ☆ You think you’re too young for Bucky to be interested in you. ironically, Bucky thinks he’s too old for you to be interested in him -Link ☆ You use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass. -Link ☆ Like he mans it | You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you. -Link

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[myownwholewildworld]

fundraiser event - celebrating 1 year of writing!

so 21st of july is my writing anniversary! and i would like to celebrate it in a meaningful manner, for which i would need you guys to participate if you're able! i spoke about this in a previous post already.

fandom is all about sharing, building community, interacting with each other and rejoicing in what makes us happy. but fandom is also about caring for each other, protecting each other spaces, loving each other. that's what i want this anniversary celebration to be about.

so... how's this going to work?

summary:

have you ever wanted to donate to a cause? have you ever thought "how can i help"? this is one way of doing it: coming together as a fandom to support those who need it most! every little counts, believe it or not. you pick an organisation from the list below, make a donation directly to them, and then send me proof of your donation. depending on your donation, i'll be offering a moodboard or a little p-boy drabble or both, and i'll be matching your donation to the same organisation too. i'm matching donations up to a total of £200. this event will be running until 31st july. instead of doing one single donation every time one of you make one, i'll be submitting my donations all in one go. even if i run out of money by then, i'll still be offering the gifts to maximise donations. and if we don't reach £200, i'll be donating the remaining of my money to one or more of the organisations below.

steps:

i. i have picked 3 organisations whose work are really close to my heart. they all, in a way, intertwine with issues and discrimination (mainly racism and LGBTQIA+phobia) we see in the PPCU fandom every single day. these are:

UNRWA - providing aid to Palestine - read about their work - DONATE (accepts many currencies) Immigration Advocates - pro-bono or low-cost immigration lawyers fighting for immigrants' rights in the US - read about their work - DONATE (only accepts USD) TransActual - fighting for trans and non-binary rights in the UK - read about their work - DONATE (only accepts GBP)

i have already donated £5 to UNRWA, £5 to TransActual and $5 to Immigration Advocates to make sure i can make the payments without issue and they all have gone through. with all three organisations, you do receive an email to confirm the donation.

p.s. even if the donations are in specific currencies, you can still make the donation! your bank account usually makes the currency exchange. or if you have a banking app with different currencies (e.g. revolut, monzo, wise, etc), then please use that!

ii. make the donation through their websites, following the prompts. the donations that carry a prize are €/$/£5, €/$/£10 or ≥€/$/£15, so please keep this in mind if you are wanting to claim your gift!

you'll have to choose between a single donation or a monthly one, it's up to you! :) if you have any questions, please let me know.

please save any proof of payment, e.g. email receipt showing the donation amount. avoid screenshotting your bank app please. blank out any identifying personal/card details.

iii. claim your prize! please submit an ask with proof of payment (this can be submitted privately via DM or discord if you prefer), and i will be matching your donation. tell me what gift you want!

any amount below €/$/£5 carries no prize, however i'm still matching these donations! please send me proof of it and i'll donate too <3 moodboard - €/$/£5 - pick a pp boy of your liking and tell me a bit about what you'd like the moodboard to be about! if you're a writer, you can request a moodboard for one of your fics. drabble (250-500 words) - €/$/£10 - i currently only write for joel miller, javier peña, marcus acacius and din djarin. pick one of them and tell me a bit about what you'd like the story to be about! e.g. trope, genre (smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, etc), a specific prompt, a picture/image/pinterest board that may be inspiring to you, etc. moodboard + drabble (>500 words) - €/$/£15 or more - a combination of both options above!

it may take me a bit to get back to all of you depending on how many submissions/donations there are, but please know that this is at the top of my priority list.

and lastly...

from the bottom of my heart, thank you all. every single one of you are what makes this fandom, what keeps it alive. creators and readers alike, we keep the boat afloat! this is a way for us to give back to the community together, to uphold the values of what fandom really is about.

i'm not tagging any moots because i don't want anyone to feel pressured to participate, as i know money can be tight. but i would be eternally grateful to those who share for this to reach a wider audience.

love,

arran xx

[origami-butterfly]

Reminder for pride month that queerness is not limited to whiteness and if you erase non white queers, when talking about the community, every queer person who isn't white gets to throw rocks at you and shoot you out of a cannon 💖

[starscelly]

esteemed starscelly are you a consumer of fic by any chance? any recs for my upcoming 8 hour road trip? (mainly stars-centric but i’m open to anything)

hello my friend! my fic game has been lacking for like. . truly like 6 months FDSKJFDSJK ive barely read anything BUT i've been a stars fan for what feels like Too Long so i have a good backlog of fics i can rec ! and a couple of the newer ones ive actually read!

i'll put my recommendations below and then ppl can feel free to sound off in the replies so maybe check there as well !

you'll get hypnotized (wyatt/delly) - instantly one of my all timer fics the second it dropped (unashamedly biased) but this fic is SO GOOD. it is so important to have a deeply yearnful and deeply suffering tydel in ur fics

ofc literally all of the 42455 (roope/miro/harls) fic there is (there is not much last i checked) but especially What About Thomas? and All Ends With Beginnings !!!! both so good and handle players who i know are considered Hard To Write soooo well

Get A Read On Me (robo/roope) - i know i am primarily a 424 person but i LOVE 2124 as well and this is literally one of my all time favorite fics ever ever ever i come back to it all the time they write roope so well and interesting and Roope Like idk please read it if u have not

if u like abo, rush into my life, stay a little while and overload are both very good 424 (roope/miro) fics !

alphabet soup (wyatt/delly) - very cute very sweet one of my favs also i come back to it a Lot

felt the need to confess (wyatt/delly) - accept burger king tydel and tharls into ur heart rn. and beer league stars also as well

still burnt from kissing your face (wyatt/delly) - LAST WYDEL REC I PROMISE FDHJSFLDS i hope u liek them damn. anyways this fic is soooo. syrupy bright summer sweethearts like i . whatever i cant describe it in words just read it stat

the mane attraction (roope/miro) - i think we all need to feel weirder abt miro's hair at all times so this is important 2 me. also this author just writes some Good Ass roopemiro but this is just my personal fave

Written up in the stars, spelled it out in blood (roope/miro) - vampire roope . u agree.

more than you wanted (robo/otter) - i cant BELIEVE i almost left this list without a robotter rec. required reading!!!

spy au (series with benn/seguin, roope/robo, and miro/harls) - i am not Caught Up but ive loooved the fic i've read from this series and they truly write Such a good miro like that is like . writing equivalent of a michelin star from me

AND AT THE END OF THE DAY. my origins and life will always be abt dpair yaoi so i have to give recs for the ogs ... (esa/klinger) twice as many stars also has miro roope but like. as kids via the power of magic and Midnight Sun is ALSO magical realism but in a . everyone forgets this person exists magically way. sooo delicious. i owe everything to esa klinger dead arse and these fics r so good

AND IM SURE THERE ARE MANY I NEGLECTED TO INCLUDE but these r either ones ive returned to 50000 times or that Came To Me in this moment !!! i hope this is helpful!!! im so sorry abt all the wydel i hope u love them bad LOL